


Inevitable

by feistymuffin



Series: Eventually [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Abusive!Dave, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Marijuana, References to Suicide, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, non-sburb AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistymuffin/pseuds/feistymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk's recovery after his break down from Jake's rejection turns out to be quite eventful, and rewarding.</p><p>Sequel to Unavoidable.</p><p>(PLEASE mind the warnings before reading! But don't let the tags scare you too much. Happy ending, remember?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting Over

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is rated S for Super sad, and also Second beginnings.

Your Bro doesn’t trust you to be on your own anymore. He actually pays some guy to stay in the apartment and watch your every move. You can’t take a piss without someone breathing down your neck. 

The first week was the hardest. Cal helped, because he’s the best fucking guy ever and he’ll never let you down, but it was hard. Every second you thought about Jake you just wanted to turn tail and find the nearest sharp thing and impale yourself on it. You had more than a few fits but they basically leveled out to you giving anyone who talked to you in person the silent treatment. You stopped going outside. 

Everything in the apartment is under lock and key, and you mean everything. Bro went through your shit, found anything you could hurt yourself with, and then got locks and shit for everything. The kitchen, the bathroom, you name it. It’s locked, and the only way to get at it is under the supervision of your resident big-ass guy in a suit who never stops watching you except when you’re in your room, because you fucking drew the line. He tried to follow you in your room and you actually snarled at him. Surprisingly he backed off, but not before assuring you that he’s well within earshot if you need anything. 

Pompous dickhead.

You didn’t talk to anyone online either, but you guessed that your friends must have called Bro a few times just to check if everything was okay because you never got any crazed emails from them. Imagining your Bro talking to your friends is stranger than you’ll care to admit, but it sort of makes you smile in a painful way.

Bro stops coming by as often as he did in the first few weeks, once you start to mellow out. The less you freak out (by your standards, freaking out is the silent treatment, occasionally breaking things, and very hard glares), the less he shows his face. You figure that since his presence doesn’t soothe you like it did when you were a kid, it doesn’t matter much. You just wish he cared enough to stick around, even try to talk to you. He’s the one who would understand the best, you think.

By two months you’ve basically started to talk to your bots again. It was hard without them, definitely, but you needed that time apart. Autoresponder was a rough patch. You were so upset after everything that you ended up decommissioning him on day five. It was part of the Jake thing, but it was also something you came to terms with on your own. AR was wrong to you, and it was only because of that that you got rid of him. It was the best you could do not to lose yourself over breaking him, but you owed it to yourself to make the wrong right again. Plus, you couldn’t handle AR running interference on your friends until you could deal with them yourself again. It wasn’t fair to them to do that.

The bots and Cal give you the insight you already had on all your problems, especially the ones with Bro. Sawtooth and Squarewave realize, just like you, that it’s a two-way street. Absentee brothers make for poor problem solvers.

You’re reluctant to admit it, but talking about shit with someone (even artificial people) who knows how to respond to you is actually the most helpful thing ever. You don’t think that just having someone listen would be nearly as helpful. Otherwise you’d have just poured your guts out to Cal and been done.

Somewhere along the line, it occurs to you that you eventually have to try to get better. You think about Jake all day, every day, and it’s a constant ache in your mind and your gut and very much your heart, but it’s becoming manageable. You recognize that it’s maybe time to start fixing the problem, even if the wound is still raw and bleeding. You tell this to Sawtooth, and he concurs. He urges you to try something new, something just a little bit scary.

Seventy-three days after your attempt, you go online for the first time. 

[ timaeusTestified began pestering gustyGumshoe at 09:51 ]

TT: Hey, Jane. Long time no type.  
GG: Oh my gosh, hey Dirk! Yeah, it’s been quite a while hasn’t it?  
GG: How’s… um… stuff?  
TT: Oh my god can we please not do this awkward bullshit?  
TT: Yes it happened. I am more than okay to talk about it with you guys.  
TT: But due to my sensitive nature, please don’t make any dead baby jokes or references to The Housewives of Beverly Hills.  
TT: I have identified them as my triggers.  
GG: What specific items of peculiar natures! :B  
TT: Hey, I shot the sheriff AND the deputy up in here.  
TT: Gotta embrace this crazy train, Jane, ‘cause you know it don’t stop.  
GG: It’s nice to see that you’re as preposterous as ever.  
TT: I could never disappoint you guys.

You feel a clench in your chest as it takes Jane several minutes to respond. You don’t really want to think too long on what that exactly means, but of course you do. They probably are disappointed in you. Maybe they sort of forgot about you for a while. It’s been over two months, after all. That’s a long time.

Breath caught in your throat, you wait for her reply.

GG: There’s nothing you could do to disappoint us, Dirk.  
GG: Especially with what happened.  
GG: Have you talked to Jake yet?  
TT: No. To be honest I don’t think it’s a great idea to talk to him.  
GG: Why not?  
TT: The last conversation I had with him was about how he’ll never love me, and how I almost killed myself over that.  
GG: So…?  
TT: Good god, Jane. Would you want to talk to me?  
GG: Well, okay. Maybe not. But he’s really missed you, Dirk! You’re bros, right?

And here you go with those emotions again. Ow. You could have done without that particular feeling.

TT: Yep. We sure fucking are. And that’s apparently it. So maybe I’ve got a few damn reasons to postpone the inevitable shit storm that my feelings are going to become with English up my ass about why the fuck I tried to forget about him for two months.  
GG: Okay, okay. Sorry. I just thought that he’d be who you talked to first.  
TT: Fuck. I’m sorry, Jane. I’m not trying to be this much of an asshole.  
GG: I get it, it’s fine. Are you sure you’re okay? This isn’t too stressful?  
TT: No, this is good. Better than sitting around waiting for my Bro to not come home.  
GG: He’s not home?  
TT: I haven’t seen him in weeks.  
GG: Oh, Dirk. :(  
TT: Frowny face, indeed. But I guess it’s okay. At least he’s not trying to ignore the problem or anything. He’s just doing exactly what he was doing before, which was ignoring me.  
GG: I don’t get why he always does that! What could possibly be more important than family?  
TT: Everything. His career, his social life, his piece of shit movies. I sort of miss the days when he used to bring his lays home. Then maybe I’d get to see his face before he got up before the crack of dawn and ran to some shitty meeting.  
GG: Dirk, you know that not talking to him about anything isn’t going to solve the problem.  
TT: Strangely enough, that’s what my bots/in-home shrinks keep telling me. And I know that. Except how can I talk to him when he doesn’t pick up the phone when I call him? Riddle me that.  
GG: Try and get his attention some other way?  
TT: Yeah, suicide was my really subtle code for “let’s have a slumber party and talk about our feelings, Bro”.  
GG: DIRK!  
TT: Too soon for suicide jokes?  
GG: Yes!  
TT: But I’ve got a whole folder of them.  
GG: Oh my god, no Dirk!  
TT: Fine, fine.  
TT: Any idea where Lalonde is? She’s not online.  
GG: No, she went out with her mom.  
TT: Wow. Never saw that one coming.  
GG: Yeah, they finally found something they both love.  
TT: And what would that be?  
GG: Shopping.  
TT: Oh, Christ. Save me from women and clearance sales.  
TT: Thank god they’re in New York or otherwise I’d be holing myself up in the bomb shelter as we speak.  
GG: That… seems a little excessive for a couple of women shopping.  
TT: Jane, honey, you ain’t seen the Texan women and their shopping. It’ll send a bona fide sane man off the deep end, I’m telling you. Hell, he’d fuckin’ swan dive off the deep end.  
GG: What a horrible way to go.  
TT: Not the worst.

You grit your teeth as she goes silent again. You just keep putting your fucking foot in your mouth, like clockwork. Oh, look at that, Dirk, you managed to build up the old friendly feeling like before you went crazy. Except for that random dumb comment you just made, brainlessly alluding to your suicide problem.

Time to yet again salvage the situation. Who knew two months of internet inactivity made you so rusty.

TT: I mean, at least he wasn’t eaten alive by leeches.  
TT: Or drowned in dog slobber.  
GG: Golly, he could’ve went toe-to-toe with a paper shredder!  
TT: Unfortunate mishap with a shoelace.  
GG: Always watch yourself around those pesky garden gnomes!  
TT: Don’t even get me started on the perils of Macy’s during Boxing Day.  
GG: And we’re back to shopping. If you want to talk to Roxy so bad, just text her.  
GG: Silly! :B  
TT: It’s… not the same.  
GG: Why not?  
TT: Because she’d be distracted.

You’re such a doofus. You won’t even text your BFF because you’re worried she’ll be too distracted, too uninterested, to give you the time of day in order for you to unload all of your shit on her. Not to mention, she’s probably got problems of her own that she wants to unload on you. It’s been a while since you talked; the problems have probably back-ordered to an unreal degree.

GG: You know she’ll always make time for you, Dirk.  
TT: I’m not saying she won’t, but…  
TT: This is just different, ok? She should spend time with her mom.  
GG: Dirk…  
TT: How’s stuff on your end? Your dad’s as dadly as ever?  
GG: He’s a dad, through and through. Makes my early years a sure thing to remember!

You go to type your reply, and get a few words down when the sign-in sound for Pesterchum bings. Your excitement peaks as you look to Roxy’s chum handle, but it’s still darkened. Jake’s, however…

Your heart clamours inside your chest for a few unnerving seconds, and then you’re erasing your reply to Jane to fire off a quick good-bye and get the fuck out of dodge before he realizes you’re online.

TT: Hey, Jane, it’s been nice talking to you but I’m gonna go.  
GG: Dirk, you stay put mister. Don’t you go running off like a scalded cat just because he’s signed on!  
TT: Not exactly on my to-do list to make an ass of myself anymore today.  
GG: Too bad. He needs to talk to you.  
GG: He’s basically losing his mind right now, if the flurry of text I’m getting right now is any kind of sign.  
TT: Maybe I’m not ready to talk to him, huh? Wounded feelings, big mental weirdo situation, instability in the self-preservation department?  
GG: Hush, that’s a load of bull excuses and you know it.  
GG: Dirk, no matter what happened two months ago, I understand that yes, you’re still hurt and yes, you’re still unsure about things. But that doesn’t mean that you’re any less sane than you were.  
TT: Pretty sure my actions dismiss that resolutely.  
GG: Balderdash! You’re wonderful. And you’re sane.  
GG: You’re just in love, and it’s confusing and makes you feel crazy. But you’re not.  
TT: This sounds like a first-hand account, Jane.  
GG: Hush, it is not!  
TT: It’s not like it’s a secret. The signs are hard to miss.  
TT: Fuck, I show them. I can sure as hell pick them up from other people.  
GG: That’s not what we’re talking about!  
TT: Well it’s what I’m changing the subject to.  
TT: Don’t lie to me. You like Jake too.  
GG: Dirk, it’s not like that! I just… I’m feeling confused lately, alright?  
GG: Lots has happened since you left.  
GG: I don’t want to talk about it.

You feel like you may be frothing at the mouth. Why does she refuse to acknowledge her obvious feelings for him? It’s so fucking obvious! The way she always brings him up, one way or another. The subtle ways she talks like him, picks up his words every now and then. The way she’s fucking perfect for him, down to her baby blues that he lusts for. Why can’t she just admit it so she can tell him so they can be together so you can have another excuse to try and off yourself and do it right this time?

Clenching your hands so hard they hurt, you breathe for a few seconds to calm down, and then reply.

TT: Great. Me neither.  
TT: In fact, I’m losing my talky mood as we type.  
TT: Bye, Jane.

You ignore the “gustyGumshoe is typing…” at the bottom of the chat as you close out of her window and sign out of Pesterchum.

Sighing heavily, you slouch over and push yourself away from your computer. This wasn’t what you wanted to feel after your first online chat. You wanted Roxy. She knew you so damn well, she knew exactly what to say to you to make you laugh. To make your forget, if even for a moment.

Jane’s message forwards to your phone, which beeps with the Pesterchum app sound. You leave it where it sits on your bed and move out to the kitchen for something to smother your feelings with.

Five minutes into preparing eggs and toast, your watcher enters the kitchen. He stands behind you resolutely, doesn’t make a sound. Just watches you.

You shut off the stove when you finish, and start drowning your eggs in ketchup just as your toast pops. You go to reach for it, but your watcher beats you there, wordlessly buttering the slices for you with a knife that you don’t have access to. You snatch the toast out of his hands and retreat to your room without a word of thanks.

Not even allowed to handle a butter knife in your own home. But you suppose it’s a miracle that your brother lets you into the kitchen at all. Then again, if he didn’t you’d probably raise hell until he did. But he knows at least that about you. 

You like cooking—well, what you call cooking. It’s more just finding food that works together and making it edible. Somehow that evolved into you actually being able to follow recipes, and make food for yourself when Bro wasn’t around after your parents died, which was a lot. After he found out you could cook and take care of yourself at home, you barely saw him once a month.

Chewing your toast mutely, you glare down into your bedspread. You twitch every time pesterchum dings at you on your phone. You knew it was a mistake to come back online at all. They would do better than you, given time. And if you’d just stayed away from them for a while longer, they could’ve forgotten you entirely. Jane would’ve told Jake how she feels. Jake would immediately say yes, since she’s so perfect and beautiful in her classic way. And so damn polite. Leagues more polite and charming than you could ever be. No matter what Jake may have said before, you know that given an unbiased option, he’d choose Jane over you any day.

He just says otherwise to spare you from yourself.

You can’t breathe anymore, so you stop chewing and try to swallow. You put your plate of cold eggs on your desk, curl up at your pillow and kick your phone off your bed. You’re crying before it hits the floor.

 

It’s another week and a half of moping around, saying all of ten words to people who aren’t Squarewave, Sawtooth or Cal, and avoiding your problems before you consider going onto Pesterchum again. Another four days pass before you finally man up and do something.

As your computer boots up, you hunch in your chair and try not to think how this is a really bad idea. The first time went horribly, and this time would be no different. You don’t see how you’re any less of a wreck, despite what Jane tries to tell you. There’s just no way this will pan out.

You’re not sure why you’re trying again. Maybe to convince yourself your friends really do like you (even when crazy), or maybe to prove that you can bounce back from this. Maybe just to hustle along your crazy fast enough to get things over with already.

At first, after you’d calmed down after that first week, you were mildly horrified that you still wanted to commit suicide. You couldn’t believe yourself, but the pain, the urge, the bitterness was all there. You wanted to die, and you didn’t care if you were the one to off yourself. Even when you started talking, started letting things out, it didn’t go away. The urge lessened, but that all came roaring back when the pain did. Just like a dam breaking over and over again, it took days, sometimes weeks for that thought of “I need to die, to kill myself” to go away, even when actively fighting against it. 

Sometimes it scares you. Most times it doesn’t now. It’s just something that you can’t do, whether you want to or not.

Pesterchum starts up and you’re horrified and relieved to see not, one, not two, but all three of your friends online. You might throw up.

Roxy doesn’t waste any time. Like you expected, Jane and Jake hesitate indefinitely.

[ tispyGnostalgic began pestering timaeusTestified at 10:13 ]

TG: hey distri  
TG: what brings u to the wide wordl of interwebbs  
TT: Oh, you know, insanity, suicidal thoughts, and the promise of good conversation.  
TG: yeah thats great but aside from witty banpter to avoid the inevitable, what about thsi thing about u not talkin 2 jake an janey all of a suppen?  
TG: *sudan  
TG: *lol sudden  
TT: Nothin’ about it. Just a thing that’s happening.  
TG: i callsies bs on taht dirk  
TG: are u havin a freakoutties b/c jake an shipt  
TG: *shit  
TT: No.  
TT: Yes.  
TT: Rox, this is the most frustrating thing in the world. I can’t stand even talking to him because all I want to do is just get to him as fast as I can and smother him with all of this inappropriate shit and at the same time I just want to off myself like a class A prick because I don’t have him and I can’t have him and it’s really just a prime situation to find myself in.  
TT: Not to mention that I’m pissed off at Jane because she likes Jake so obviously and they’re way too damn perfect for each other, and I’m pissed at myself for being pissed at her.  
TG: jnaey mentioned u had problems w bro too  
TT: Had? More like have, the exact same problems since my birth. He’s in the golden years of his life, his career, his everything, and he’s got a kid brother weighing him down with some mediocre bullshit like mental health issues. I wouldn’t pay me any attention either.  
TG: u liar  
TG: ur not some heartless weenie assface like ur bro and u kno it  
TG: remember dirk this isnt our first rodeo cowboy, me and u have been in the shit, gone back an forth with parental bad times and gotten thru it b/c we kno we can do it better than tehy did  
TT: The problem with that is, your mom and my brother aren’t bad people.  
TT: Despite being an adult, Bro is still young. He wants to live without the burdens of being a parent to a kid that isn’t even his. And I get it. I’m not mad at him. I just wish he knew what my end was like.  
TT: I miss Mom and Dad too.  
TG: wel no kiddin btu does it have to be such a fedrelerd case 2 have a dinner with him evry now and then or liek even a howdy lil bro sup with ur prolems  
TG: *federlea  
TG: *federal  
TT: Well, what about you and your mom? You’re getting along, so I hear from Jane.  
TG: straengluy enough ya  
TG: *strangely  
TG: like tow peas is a popd  
TT: Stranger words were never uttered.  
TT: Well… I’m happy for you. Good things have happened in my absence.  
TG: that sounds supsicisuouly like selfdepprecitaion b/c the rest of us kept living whiel u were gone  
TT: It seems you think I’m self-depreciating.  
TG: dirk dont make me do my srs face  
TT: Oh save me Jeebus.  
TG: im revvin it up coolkid and let me tell u that u aint prepared for this mabdness  
TT: Well, to be fair, the self-depreciation comes hand-in-hand with the suicide happy time thoughts.  
TG: sounds liek a party  
TT: You really have no idea. It’s practically a bar mitzvah for my newly gained delusions up in here. Quite the occasion, I’ll send you an invite.  
TG: coolsies ill bring the booze

You sigh hard through your nose, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to dry them. You missed Roxy, more than you’ll ever admit. You missed her almost as much as Jake, and that’s substantial.

TG: so janey tells me that u dont have the balls to tlalk to jake  
TG: hows that goin for u

Then again, there are some things about her you could do without. The meddling, for one thing.

TT: It isn’t going anywhere, really, since I’m doing fuck all.  
TG: well there ar ways 2 fix thinbgs u knwo  
TT: That’s something I’d like to put off until absolutely necessary.  
TG: k cool im gona tell jake u wanna talk  
TT: Fucking shit.  
TT: You know, between you and Jane I can’t fathom how you haven’t driven me insane before now.  
TG: dont blame ur crazy pasty texan booty on us strudel  
TG: that is 1000 percent ur department of experetiste  
TG: ps hot tanned english booty incoming  
TT: It’s a good thing I love you, otherwise I’d hate you.  
TG: ilu2  
TG: good luck

You officially deign Roxy “more than ignorable for the time being” and nearly have a stroke when Jake’s handle lights up. He just sent you a message. Christ you could kill her, and Jane. They both probably told him.

[ golgothasTerror began pestering timaeusTestified at 10:52 ]

GT: Strider! Been a while hasnt it?  
TT: You could say that.  
GT: How have… things been going?  
TT: Essentially the exact same as before. Except my brother is somehow even more absent and I’m watched like a diabetic kid around the snack table at a wedding.  
GT: That uh sounds quite a bit different actually.  
TT: Hm. Yes, it seems it is.  
GT: Friggin beans on a log strider i missed you something awful. Where have you been gone to all this time?

You could have very much done without this. Your head already hurts from the pressure behind your eyes. You’re on the verge of breaking down crying and you’re harmlessly IMing him for Christ’s sake.

God damn it.

TT: There were some things I had to clean up.  
TT: Myself, namely.  
GT: Righto then! Completely understandable. Get your things in order all of that and such. Yes.  
TT: And I guess I’m back now. So there’s that.  
GT: Ah yes. And im wonderfully pleased with the turn of events i must say.

You’re so very tempted to tell him to fuck off with the over-cordial welcome, because Jake is nothing if not a definition for trying way too hard. He cannot think this is his fault, or you may just put a hole in something.

TT: Don’t you put any of this shit on you, English. This isn’t yours to deal with.  
TT: Cause of temper tantrum notwithstanding, my reactions and the aftermath are not something to rest on your shoulders. So knock it off.  
GT: Strider i wasnt blaming anybody i was just...  
GT: Shiver my fucking timbers you are so flabbergasting!  
TT: Right. Then let’s just forget everything ever happened.  
TT: Hello there, green-inked stranger. Who might you be?  
GT: Nows not the time for joking about mister strider.  
TT: What is it the time for, then?  
GT: Amends i suppose.

You sigh, bonking your closed fist against your forehead lightly. Amends. Right. What exactly was there to fix? A friendship on already-crumbling legs because of your indelicate stamping feet of emotions and impatient selfishness? You don’t think so. Jake’s heads is in the clouds, and he seems to think that there’s more still that he can do for you except everything that you want from him.

He is a particularly infuriating breed of ‘over-helpful in the wrong places’. What’s even more infuriating is how you can’t blame him for any of it.

TT: Nothing to amend, bro. We’re all good.  
GT: Dirk i think we should talk about this. Are you *sure* youre ok?  
TT: For the last fucking time, yes. I’m sure Jane and Roxy have turned my psychosis over with you until your ears caved in on themselves, so it’s not like this is a new breach for you. If you honestly want to know the gory, dismal details then fine, let’s talk. Otherwise I’d like to move on and really forget the entire thing.  
GT: *Tugs at shirt collar* well yes they have brought it up once or twice with me.  
TT: And I told them it was ok, so don’t sweat it. I’m asking you what you want to do.

Characteristically, he takes a few minutes to respond. Every time his chumhandle alerts you that he’s typing, your chest clenches a little bit. Maybe he doesn’t recognize it, but you’re asking him whether or not your affection for him should be entirely forgotten or if it’s still a topic of interest. You hope to God that he understands. This is as blatant as you’re going to get, and for good reason. Last time you were open didn’t turn over so well for you.

GT: Maybe its best that we just move on then, if you really want to.

You close your eyes and let your head sink to lie on your desk. That’s it then. It’s officially over. No more speculation, wonderings, second thoughts. Jake has solidly turned you down whether he meant to or not. The book is shut, and you’re going to lock it and melt the damn key.

TT: Alright then. Consider it forgotten.  
TT: How goes Hellmurder Island?  
GT: Looking magnificent in the springtime as usual. It really is a sight to see! You folks should come down one summer to spend some time and see it for yourself!  
TT: A charming idea. Run it by Jane and Lalonde, and we’ll see if something can’t be put together.

There’s no way in hell you’re going to see him in person any time soon, but giving him the false sense of security that you’re fine is all the justification he needs to act normally around you again. Which is really the very least that you want out of this ordeal.

Roxy’s chat lights up and you suppose that she’s been kept on ice long enough.

TG: sometimnes i rlly hate that ur so smart  
TT: And what impeccably smart thing have I done now?  
TG: u just made jake cut the crap off entrirely  
TG: you big fuckup  
TT: Jesus H Christ he honestly does share everything with you doesn’t he?  
TG: regardin ur stupid ass he sure dpoes  
TT: I thought this started with me being intelligent.  
TG: wel it did but ur really stupid too so it evens out i geusus  
TG: *guess  
TT: How do you even know what I said could be taken as a passive final remark?  
TG: he frowarded it 2 me  
TT: Sigh. Of course he did.  
TG: there isnt any other way he can decipeper your crazy twisty words wihtout someone else smart to interfere u know  
TG: *depchir  
TG: *decipher  
TT: Well, did you tell him what it meant?  
TG: no  
TG: not entirely newaiz  
TG: he jsut thinks ur bein cagey with ur feelins because you dont trust yurself aroun him  
TG: which is again true but not the whoel truth  
TT: So are you going to tell him?  
TG: i wasnt planning on it  
TT: Good. If he knows what I did he’ll raise a big fucking argument over who’s to blame, and me being sneaky with forcing his decisions.  
TT: Or something equally ridiculous-sounding.  
TG: its not ridickulos if ur actually doign it  
TT: It’s necessary, ok? I want this over with.  
TT: I don’t want to drag it out over months, hash out feelings and intentions with him endlessly.  
TT: I’m not going to get better if I do.  
TG: thers nothing wrong with u dirk  
TT: My crippling psychosis deigns otherwise.  
TG: u gotta stop thiking of this as psychosis  
TG: yore not crazy ok dirk, youre just hurt and traumatized by the feelings that the rejetciomn caused  
TT: My own substantial knowledge base, as well as those of the internet, suspect otherwise. Not to mention I feel crazy. There are some things I want to do that I’ve never wanted before, namely killing and hurting myself.  
TG: ok but theres so mnany diff kinds of psychosis and some are just onsest by brief interlufdes of depression  
TG: *interludes  
TT: Wonderful. I’m temporarily psychotic and depressed. I knew all that.  
TG: then why ar u treatin this like its the end of teh world  
TG: youll bounce back likwe you always do and thatll b that  
TT: Your overconfidence in my recovery is a little heartwarming and a lot disconcerting.  
TG: can u feel the presdsure dirk  
TT: I can as a matter of fact. And I’m not sure that it’s something I can live up to. Literally.  
TG: suiside jokes notwithstnadin i think you can do it  
TT: Surprisingly enough, I probably can. Doesn’t mean I’ll get there.  
TG: man u woudl not believe wat me janey and jake are talkin baout  
TT: Hmmm. Me?  
TG: wow strider i dint kno u read minds  
TG: how the fmuck did you figure out that on  
TG jesus has the mayor given you a medal yet  
TG: that was guiness worthy  
TG: couldnt even fathom it rly  
TG: hold on i gota catch my bgreath here  
TT: You done, babe?  
TG: nono one more  
TG: crap dirk its like im paralysrd simply stunned by yur mental prowess  
TG: k im done now  
TT: Alright then.  
TG: but cerealously you can do this  
TG: dont u think for one second that we dont need u cause i know how u fundction  
TG: i love u dirk and thats rlly all there is to say on the matter

You paw at your leaking eyes, sniffling and reading her words a few times over. There she goes, making you feel like you used to. Making you feel loved and warm and fuzzy inside. If you could see your heart, it would be curling up inside your chest, snuggling some blanket that Roxy swaddled it in. 

You laugh to yourself (a little wetly) when you picture it as a curled up cat. 

TT: Christ, Roxy. I...  
TT: Thanks.  
TT: I love you too.  
TG: yep no probs  
TG: gimme one sec  
TT: Uh, sure.

As you wait, you start up a game of solitaire and dry your eyes. You don’t get far though, since all at once, Roxy, Jane and Jake all send you video chat requests.

You panic, your soothed heart jumping up and screeching bloody murder behind your ribcage. Jane and Roxy aren’t the problem.  
There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to stand seeing Jake’s face right now. Not a chance in hell. No fucking way. There’s no damn way that that’s going to—

GT: Please dirk, we all have something to say.

TG: anser the call u big jwerk!

GG: Come on now, I know you can see us! Smile and click the button! :B

You can’t help but smile as you read their messages. They’re such goons sometimes, and right now this is all for you. So, you swallow your panic, your fear, your uncertainty and you click the button.

Immediately your mug appears up on your screen in the bottom corner, and there’s three pending squares waiting for your friends’ feeds to load and a collective chat for all of you to type. Quickly you check your hair, your face, fixing and tweaking where necessary and eventually you have to stop yourself because you’re fingering the same lock of hair over and over for no reason.

Jane pops up first, and you shock yourself into a jerky “Fuck, hi, Jane”. She giggles discreetly at you and murmurs a sweet “hi” back to you. You sort of stare at her, since it’s just been way too long since you’ve seen her. Or any of them.

She’s staring back too, because it takes you a second to realize that without AR, you don’t wear shades (since you don’t go outside anymore). The quality of your webcam and the lighting in your room makes your eyes look light brown, rather than their shocking orange colour. Jane, aside from looking surprised just to see your whole face, hasn’t noticed anything amiss. You’re perfectly normal-looking.

Jane’s pixie-cut chocolate brown hair curls around her ears softly and cups her face. Her glasses are different, frameless lenses instead of the black oval ones she had before. Protruding front teeth peek out from under her top lip. Her face is the most endearing thing you’ve seen in a long damn time.  
She seems to notice that you’re just staring, because a pale blush creeps its way along her cheeks and lights her up. You smile as she stammers over her words. “S-so! How are you doing, Dirk? Is anyone else up yet?” 

You smile wider at her flustered state. Maybe she was a bit nervous to see you again, too. You’re not going to think about how she’s more likely nervous about seeing one of the other two video participants. “Nope, just me and you so far.”

But even as you’re saying the words, Roxy’s video is flickering in, and then she’s there. Bright and blonde with her black-painted lips grinning at you so widely you fear her face may crack. Her hair seems slightly mussed, sticking up in the back. You suspect that she was laying on her back with her laptop on her chest, like she often does. As soon as she sees you two, she wiggles her eyebrows wildly and evokes a bubbling laugh from Jane and a quick snort from you.

“How we doing, sexy people?” she queries. She sounds tipsy.

You roll your eyes. “Oh I’m wonderful. Just having a few minor heart attacks here.” A heavy sigh rushes past your lips, and the girls look at you a little different when you rub your face. “I don’t know if I can do this, guys. He’s... it’s too soon, good intentions be damned.”

“You can do it, Dirk, we know it.” Jane smiles at you and you’re tempted to snap at her, but you know that it’s not her fault that you both like the same jungle-bound idiot. You decide not to respond.

Jake’s connection still hasn’t come through, and right as Roxy goes to comment, a green blurb appears on your screen.

GT: Blast it all my connection seems to be ill-matched for video chatting at this moment pal honchos.  
GT: My deepest apologies!

Your heart leaps at the words, with relief and disappointment. You type a quick reply.

TT: No worries, bro. Another time.  
TG: yeah well do this again dont u worry

You watch Jane’s video window as she gnaws her lip and apparently has some difficulty typing a reply. Eventually she comes up with something.

GG: A damn shame, Jake! Can you at least see us?

You twitch uncomfortably at that. Whoops, that thought hadn’t occurred to you. Now you may be even more nervous than before.

GT: Afraid not Jane dearest. This damnable connection is just always on the fritz! Technology at its shittiest in these parts.

Well. You could have very well done without that endearment. Jane is pleasantly flushed, a happy smile on her lips. Roxy looks at you, right at you, and you shake your head. You swallow past the hard lump in your throat and start typing.

TT: One day you’ll have to let me get at that garbage, Jake. You should at least have adequate communications if you insist on staying half a world away at all times.  
GT: Great gatsby dirk if youd like to come visit im sure we can make all the proper arrangements!

You’re in the clouds for all of two seconds, just from his harmless invitation, before he brings you crashing back down.

GT: Speaking of which girls dirk and i were contemplating all of you coming to visit me sometime.  
GT: Strider i bet you could do your mechanical magic with my hardware then right?

Roxy bursts out laughing, hard, and she’s gasping for breath and giggling while you just stare at nothing and try to smother your emotions. Ignoring that little faux-pas with wordplay, you smile coldly at yourself. You’re the one who wants to cut everything off, but still you plant ideas of seeing him, say things to please him, thrive off the little things he says that even slightly insinuate to any form of bond between the two of you. Jane is the exact same.

God, you both care for him way too much more than is healthy. It actually drove you crazy.

TT: You bet, English. I’ll have it functional and anti-fritzy in no time.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel a tear slide into your mouth. You taste the salt with no reaction. It’s pretty familiar.

“Dirk,” Roxy murmurs from her video window on your screen. You glance up at her with an ill-placed smile, then completely avoid looking at Jane. You don’t need to see whatever emotion she’s having.

TT: Anyways, I’m feeling up to some food. I’ll see you guys later.

You close your video feed quickly so the girls can’t see you starting to break down. From the looks on their faces, you think they know anyways.

GT: Sure thing strider. Be seeing you!

You don’t reply, instead closing out of pesterchum before anyone else can respond, and you don’t even shut your computer down before vaulting yourself from your chair to your bed. Your little safe haven for crying your guts out. You crush Cal to your chest and sob into his hoodie.  
By the time you’re calming down, you feel drowsy enough to warrant yourself a midday catnap. You curl up underneath the covers and think about every horrible piece of shit in your life as you fall asleep.


	2. There's a Fine Line Between Love and Contempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated B for bonehead boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for abusive Dave :C

When you wake up and decide to peek out of your blanket shelter, the sky is just beginning to darken outside. You lie in bed and think about nothing.

Your phone occasionally blips with a pesterchum message as you essentially do nothing, and you wonder if Rox was worried. You’ll admit that it always makes you feel a little bad to ditch like that, especially when your friends know what kind of a state you’re in (well, Roxy and Jane know) but during your little fits you just can’t be bothered to care who gets hurt. Yourself included.

You bargain with yourself on the benefits of rotting in bed all evening, and have almost won when you hear a small ruckus in the kitchen. You jolt upright. 

Oh hell no. If the watcher is in your Cheetos again you are going to flip all of the shit.

You jump out of bed and stalk angrily from your room. The hallway is dark, and you pass by the bathroom and your brother’s ill-used bedroom to bring the living area and kitchen into view. “I thought I fucking told you to keep your huge, filthy hands out of m...” you begin hotly, but trail off.

It’s not your watcher that stands in the kitchen looting your delicious cheesy snack items, but your big brother.

He’s hunched over the sink, looking out the window and apparently very oblivious to you until you start talking. Bro is dressed in classy attire, what appears to be a tux with a much loosened bowtie and an un-tucked ruffled shirt. A bottle is clutched in his fist, accompanied by several on the counter as well as your bag of Cheetos.

He turns to look at the source of noise as you approach him. You stop a very respectable distance away from him, a decent defense if need be.

“What were you saying, kid?” he asks, licking powdered cheese off his thumb.

Your chest is clenching spasmodically with apprehension and a little fear. You smell the alcohol ever so faintly, a pungent and sort of sickly aroma that always made your stomach turn. Maybe it was just his liquor that smelled bad, but you were never encouraged to try the stuff, even if you were given an opportunity. 

Your fear quells a bit when you notice that he’s coherent enough, but it doesn’t disappear.

“Nothing,” you say, casually stepping back a step. “Just thought my watcher was into my junk again.”

“Well he ain’t,” Bro spits, and his accent is pronounced with his slightly irregular speech. More than worth your while to keep a distance between you.

“Yeah.” That’s all you say. Getting elaborate right now wouldn’t do any good. You start slinking backwards, back to your room where he rarely goes.

His gaze, no doubt never having left you behind his shades, makes your nervousness show. He pushes away from the counter he was leaning against. “The hell you going? You don’t have enough time for your bro?”

You scoff before you can stop yourself and fix him with a hard glare. “You know, I could ask you the same damn thing.”

Bro seems surprised by your words, or maybe just the fact that you talked back. His expression of shock quickly turns sour, however, as he returns your glare twofold. “Yeah? How about that, psycho.”

You’re furious at him. You know he’s a jerk, and you know that he says things like that just to hurt you, but the words sting all the same. Your dam breaks for the millionth time in three months and tears leak from your eyes. Your brother notices before you have the chance to turn tail.

“Are you crying?” he asks incredulously. He doesn’t sound like he’s concerned. He sounds disappointed. 

“Yes, I’m crying,” you snap at him, and he’s taken aback in his drunken state by the venom in your tone. If he was sober, he would’ve barely flinched. “And maybe if you stuck around every now and then to do something else besides loiter away from your shitty business friends and drink expensive booze, then you’d understand or at least know why!”

You don’t wait for his reply; it’ll hurt more than the last one when he recovers from your shouting. Instead you skitter off to your room and lock your deadbolt and hope to the gods that he doesn’t try to break the door down to have his say.

Nervously you wait out the silence, crouched with your ear pressed to your door. You hear him bang around in the kitchen, rummage in the fridge, and pop what sounds like two more beers. 

The encounter itself is one of the shortest on record, and you’ve yelled at him before once or twice, called him an ass and other creative names, asked him why he never makes time for you, et cetera. This is really the first time you’ve called him on his bullshit in a direct way, and the first time you’ve genuinely raised your voice to an absurd degree. If he was any more sober, you probably wouldn’t have gotten out of there without something bad to show for it.

Relieved when he doesn’t follow you after some five minutes, you tiptoe to bed and huddle under your covers. For once, you actively pay attention to pesterchum on your phone.

[ tipsyGnostalgic began pestering timaeusTestified at 19:34 ]

TG: hey are u ok  
TG: not to be wihney and concernd but im watchin ur bro at some swanky award show on tv  
TG: was just wonderin if u were ok  
TG: like if he might b drinkin  
TG: just let me kno when u get online k

You wipe your face and send a reply.

[ timaeusTestified began pestering tispyGnostalgic at 21:18 ]

TT: Unsurprisingly he is sloshed, but within reason this time.  
TT: Also unsurprisingly, I goaded him into a fight. Though he had no problem goading me back.  
TG: wow dirk way 2 handle taht whole closeness prolem  
TT: It’s a two-way street, Rox. I’ll address it seriously when he makes an effort to recognize that there actually is a problem, at the very least.  
TG: i get that but liek its just abhsurf that you guys cant even talk bout it  
TG: *absurd  
TT: He’s sort of required to be present for us to talk about anything, let alone address the problems constructively.  
TG: k i get that an all but why dose he not see taht youre such a “””””MESS”””””  
TG: in ur stupid opinion  
TT: Because anything that he’s doing right now is several thousand times more important than anything having to do with me.  
TG: bullshititties striderp  
TG: i say that he actuly cares but since u dumbos never talk then he dosent no that u are seriously not ok and that ur suicide attempt wasnt some phase or a fluke  
TG: did u even talk to him after the facet  
TG: *fact  
TT: Nope.  
TT: He came home in the nick of time and carted my bleeding ass to the ER where I was given transfusions, his own blood I’m told, kept for observation and put on suicide watch indefinitely.  
TT: He didn’t say fucking ten words to me the entire time I was in the hospital. He didn’t even ask me if I was ok.  
TG: shity story bro  
TT: Do you know what he said?  
TT: “Nurses here ain’t lacking in stature, eh?”  
TG: i like how u defend him to me an say hes not a bapd person  
TG: but then you dig him up 2 me about how much of a tool he si  
TT: He ISN’T a bad person.   
TT: He’s just a really bad brother.  
TG: trigs wranin in advance if this messes u up im sry but you arnt the best bro either distri

You sigh as the tears wallow just behind your eyes. Roxy has a point. She has an indisputable point. Where you tirelessly complain about how your bro never tries to reach out to you, you never do so either. How would he know that you want him, need him to be a part of your life again when you sit in your room and try to forget that he’s forgotten you?

TT: Yeah. I’m starting to get that.  
TG: shit dirk liek im sory ok but dont get all downy about it  
TG: not a big dealio cuz hes a crappy bro 2 so its all gud  
TT: No, hey, this is good. I’m a shitty friend and a shitty bro. I’m hitting all my bases at once.  
TT: This time next year I’ll be borderline Scrooge.  
TG: come on u kno i didnt mean it lyk that  
TG: thers nothin wrong with bein a subpar brothetr k  
TG: only place to go is up rite? so just work on it

Roxy has a point, but you doubt that it’s really held to effect in this case. Just like your debacle with feelings for Jake, which shit the friendship bed pretty solidly, your brotherly scenario is more or less fucked because of you, in part. Despite that, you are more than certain that things can get worse, in both cases. Things can always get worse.

You don’t know why you’ve never told your online friends—your only friends, really—that Bro has raised his hand to you. Probably because they’d lose their minds and try to get you to call the cops or something, which is ridiculous because technically you’re an adult so it’s not like you can do much except press charges for assault. And it’s not like you’d do something like that to the man who raised you anyways. Regardless of how he treats you, he has made sure that you’ve been taken care of. Sure, it’s a little fucked up that you’re scared of your guardian, even at age eighteen, but old habits die hard.

TT: Rox, I’m gonna try to sleep now.  
TG: is he stil there?  
TT: ... Yeah. He’ll pass out soon enough, though.  
TT: Then he’ll be gone again. So no harm done.  
TT: Bye.  
TG: nightey nihgt dirk :(

You put your phone on sleep mode before setting it on your bedside table and curling up near your wall. You know that you won’t be able to sleep until you hear your brother go to bed, or leave the apartment. 

Lying awake and listening, you can gather that he’s in the living room watching a TV program, some late night bullshit. In addition to the studio audience, he adds a few hoarse chuckles of his own on a particularly hilarious line.

He’s usually pretty restless when he’s hammered, and that proves true as he shuts off the TV after about twenty minutes and starts wandering around the apartment. Usually he just gravitates between the bathroom, kitchen and his bedroom. Sometimes he’ll go back to the TV after a bit.

What he never does, what he’s doing now, is knocking on your door.

“Dirk,” he mumbles through the wood. You peek over your blanket just slightly, enough to see light creeping under your door from the hallway. “Come on, buddy, can... can you just open the door?” He pauses for a while, waiting for your answer, you suppose. “Are you asleep?” he slurs, trying to whisper.

“No,” you say, so he can hear. You twist the blanket in your hands hard enough to hurt your palms.

“D’you wanna open the door?” he asks you.

“Do you want to finally address the issue?” you snap back.

He’s silent for a few moments. “If there ain’t no issue, what’s to address?” he rebukes, a little hotly.

“Nothing. So there’s no reason to open the door.” You wish he could see your glare. “Especially not to just punch me in the face and call it a night.”

You expect the aggression, the harsh banging of fists against your door, but it still makes you jump. “If you wouldn’t start shit over nothin’ then I wouldn’t have to bring you into line!” he nearly yells at you.

Sighing silently to calm your nerves and soothe your shaking hands, you don’t respond. When Bro realizes that you don’t intend to reply, he slams his hands against the door again.

“Open this fuckin’ door,” he snarls, “or I’ll break it down.”

You’re tempted to be defiant to the end, but you’re not stupid. Then again, encouraging your brother into enough of a rage that he maybe threatens your life could be a solid way out. He can start it, you can finish. But you don’t want the last thing you see to be rage and disappointment on his face. Worst case scenario, though, you’ll take it.

“Fine,” you say, with no inflection. You get out of bed, quickly hiding your phone in your drawer, and walk to the door on unsteady legs. You slip the deadbolt open and cautiously, slowly turn the knob and open the door to your brother’s furious visage.

You stare at him passively—you’ll proudly state that you two are nearly the same height, though you’re still an inch shy of him— while underneath your skin you feel fear to the soles of your feet. The way he looks at you doesn’t help matters. Furious may be an understatement. A quick glance at his hands show that they’re rhythmically clenching into fists and relaxing. It’s inevitable.

You see the blow coming before it actually starts, brace for it by shifting your feet, but then he’s lifting his arm and his hand is closed tight. He draws back for only a second before snapping his fist forward and smiting you right in the cheek. You stagger hard, fall backwards into your dresser and sort of hang off of it.

He approaches you and slaps you with his other hand, knocking your head to one side. Bro leaves you only a moment to recover before grabbing your upper arms and hauling you upright, then shoving you hard onto the floor.

You fall pretty gracelessly, bonking your knees and collapsing awkwardly. You lay there, breathing hard and feeling the hot pain and the beginnings of swelling already covering your face. You don’t move, you don’t run, you don’t try to fight. You lay there and don’t even look at him.

He stands over you, supposedly assessing his handy work, and by some unknown factor he decides he isn’t finished. His foot pressed down onto your hand where it rests unmoving, and he puts weight on it. A lot of weight on it. You feel things shifting and straining, hear your bones groaning under the pressure. You’re starting to whine from the pain, because any second now your fingers are going to snap, but his foot lifts and leaves a gasp rushing from your lips.

Your hand aches, your face is throbbing, and you’re starting to cry.

Bro stands over you, finished but analyzing. You lick your lips to drive the nail in further.

“I wonder, how does it feel to lay waste to your kid brother?” you mutter, staring at the wheels on your computer chair. “Do you think Mom and Dad are proud of how you’ve raised me? How you’re taking care of me? D’you think that wherever they are, they can be at peace since I’m so well looked after?”

His warning snarl is all the persuasion you need to continue. “You know, it may have done you a better deal to have let me die in the house fire that killed them. Why save me if this is what I grew up to endure? Why?” You swallow roughly, idly moving your non-crushed hand up to wipe your tears and shift to lie on your side. “Why not just finish the job now?” 

You try to get enough gall to look up at him, but you’re scared; you’re not sure what you’ll see there. You’re a coward. You can’t even kill yourself right. You have to get someone else to do the job for you.

“Why not kill me, Bro?” you whisper. “You’d be doing yourself a favour, and me. I’m already on suicide watch, it’s not like anyone would suspect you. A couple of clean cuts, a little time.” You blink away the tears that fog your vision. “And I’m gone.”

His breathing is heavy, uncontrolled. He sounds pissed. You’ve done all you can, and now it’s up to him.

“You’re not joking, are you?” he says blankly. 

Chuckling coldly, you shake your head. The movement hurts. “Was my first attempt too subtle for you?”

“Why?” Bro asks, and he sounds strange. 

You sigh, sniffling at the end. “Well. For starters, let’s just say I have a less than ideal home life.” Understatement of the goddamn millennium, and by the way you see Bro flinch, he knows it. “No friends here since I finished high school. All of my real friends are online, and they all live at least two thousand miles away. The farthest one lives in the middle of the Pacific.

“I confessed my love to someone who thought I was kidding. I got tired of being some huge fucking joke, trying to be this hot shit genius smartass when I’m just a lonely kid with stupid hobbies. I’m more disappointed in myself than you could ever be, and I have a pretty good ballpark of how disappointed you are so that’s substantial.

“Even now, I’m trying to convince myself that my friends do want and need me like they insist they do. But in the time I wasn’t online, their lives went on completely fine. Jane fully developed her feelings for Jake, even though she still solidly refuses to acknowledge them. Roxy actually has a relationship with her mom now. They talk, they do things, and they’re a family. Jake... Jake is the exact same, which is the root of my primary problem. And I’m tired of all of it.”

You wait, and neither of you moves or says anything. When it’s been a few minutes and he still hasn’t spoken, you mutter, “So are you doing it or not?”

He seems to snap out of some trance with a small jolt. “Jesus Christ,” Bro whispers. He slowly recedes from your peripheral view. You don’t hear his footsteps until they’re at the other end of the apartment, rushing to the front door. You hear the jangle of his keys before the door slams, and then you’re alone for the first time in a very long time.

You haul yourself up without much trouble, though you take care of your injured hand. First thing you do is go to the window and try to wrench it open one-handed. It’s locked shut. Undeterred, you jog to the kitchen and try every cupboard and every drawer. Locked fucking shut. The watcher was thorough. Bro must have even remembered to lock up after his pillaging of your Cheetos.

Your gaze is drawn to the sink, where his empty bottles still sit. Picking one up, you take a step back and, with your good hand, you bring it down hard against the countertop.

It doesn’t break.

You try again, and again, but every time the bottle clangs and maybe chips, but it doesn’t break. You’re either the weakest adult currently alive or these are bottles reinforced with inlays of adamantium. That is not as easy as it appears in the movies.

You hurry back down the hall to the bathroom, pulling on the medicine cabinet immediately but of course it’s locked. You look for discarded items, razors, toothbrushes, anything. Nothing.

You don’t bother with the living room, since it’s just full of electronics.

Electronics. 

Why not have another bath, like you did before? Baths are good.

You run the tub water on full blast, and go in search of something portable. Your first stop is the kitchen again, but all the small appliances are locked up like everything else. Can’t even get your hands on the standard toaster. You browse the living room setup, but nothing there really fits the bill. You set your eyes on the old VCR that you rarely use, and unplug it and bring it to the bathroom.

Plugging in the VCR to the bathroom plug, you shut off the tap and test the water. Luke-warm, but not like it matters. You quickly undress and hoist yourself in, sitting and turning to grab your liberating appliance. You hold it in your hands and just... sit there.

Wow, all of that and you’re here and it’s real and you can do it and you feel a sliver of doubt. You can do it right now, but you’re hesitating. Why?

Their faces hover like ghosts in your mind: your friends. Your best friends in the whole world. Three people who you thought you could never live without, who have brought you through lesser crises relatively unscathed. They couldn’t help you with this, but not because they didn’t want to. Because you didn’t let them.  
It’s unfair of you, isn’t it? They probably feel like total assholes, watching you deteriorate like this, staying while you disappeared to sort out your shit, almost having to deal with your death while you talked to them.

You are the hugest fucking loser in the universe. You may hate yourself more than humanly possible. But killing yourself only lets yourself win. And you can’t have that.

You set the VCR down on the floor of the bathroom, get out and towel yourself dry. You drain the tub, get dressed, and go back to your room. You turn on your computer and sign into pesterchum.

The only one online is Jake. Shit.

Well that’s helpful. The one friend who you mutually agreed with to never talk about this crap again is online when you need a feelings jam.

[ timaeusTestified began pestering golgothasTerror at 10:22 ]

TT: Jake. Hey, I got some bad news, bro.  
GT: Goodness nothing *that* bad i hope?  
TT: No, I guess it could be worse. But I have to go back on our deal for a little while.  
GT: Deal?  
GT: Oh you mean the “were not going to take about this” deal.  
GT: What brings this on?  
TT: I tried to get my brother to kill me.  
GT: !!!!!!!  
TT: And when he didn’t, I tried to do it myself.  
GT: Great fucking scott strider are you completely insane?!?  
TT: That appears to be up for debate, but the consensus is yes.  
GT: Put your damn smarm away and be serious about this!!  
TT: I am. I came online to tell someone a few things.  
TT: Firstly, for a few years now Bro has been abusing me physically. I haven’t told you guys because I knew what you would suggest I do.  
GT: Youre damn right you do!  
GT: Call those whosamacallits people.  
GT: Police people!  
GT: Get them to give you a hand strider!  
TT: See, the only problem with that is that if I get him arrested for assault, he’s probably going to lawyer up to stay out of jail and ruin my ass when it comes to the hearing. Since he’s my source of cash flow, and I’m pressing charges against him, he won’t pay for a lawyer that would try to put him away.  
TT: Besides, I don’t want to put him in jail, or ruin his career. Admittedly it would be satisfying considering how much of a huge fucking asshole he is, but he’s still my brother, kind of. I don’t want to hurt him.  
TT: I just want him to act like my brother once in a while, not my jailer or my master.  
GT: I sincerely hope that thats not some form of modern allusion to a weird sexual get together. *dabs at face nervously with kerchief*  
TT: Oh my god Jake, get your mind out of the gutter. He’s not raping me, he’s just beating me.  
GT: Oh.  
GT: Well i suppose thats slightly less bad then.  
TT: Yes. And whenever Roxy and Jane come online next, I’m going to tell them all this too. I think Roxy suspects something anyways.  
TT: But right now they aren’t, so I’m sorry but talking about this really appears to be helping and I’m through with hiding my problems from you guys.  
TT: I trust you with my life, with everything and anything, and this is as much your problem as it is mine, if your feelings about the matter are anything to go by.  
GT: About bloody time you got your head right.  
GT: Dont know how you thought id give up first.  
GT: I never back away from a challenge!  
GT: The ladies were likewise inclined to be mulish.  
GT: Dirk we care about you very much and it really is in our best interest for you to be at your happiest.  
GT: *rubs back of neck* And maybe some of us arent very... reciprocating in how we cater to your happiness but we do want you to know that we care about you regardless of that befuddlery.

You run your good hand through your hair (your other one is throbbing uncomfortably from your typing), unsteadily, as you read the text. He’s getting better at not stepping on your already-broken toes, but you maybe could’ve done without him being this forward. This is why you wanted to end this.

TT: That sounds suspiciously like a personal account and not at all a generalization of the three of you.  
TT: Don’t get your panties in knots, I’m not objectifying your statement or calling you out. You just don’t need to use that amount of broadness when we both know what we’re talking about.  
GT: ... I know.  
GT: It just makes me feel a little better when i dont have to think too hard on how badly i messed this up.  
TT: Jake... This isn’t on you, ok? I meant it when I said that. I can’t...  
TT: It’s nobody’s fault that you don’t feel like that. It’s ok.  
GT: It doesnt make me feel any less awful about it.  
GT: Besides. Lately ive been wondering if i was entirely on the money when i said that all those weeks ago.  
TT: Jake, don’t do this.  
GT: Im not trying to be malicious mate i just wanted to tell you that maybe circumstances have altered into someone elses favor.  
TT: Don’t give me false hope like this.  
GT: Do you think im lying?  
TT: I certainly don’t think you’re being truthful.  
TT: I’m going to say this again: English, it is one hundred percent more than ok that you have no romantic feelings for me. It is not. Your. Fault. It doesn’t happen to be mine either. You cannot help what you feel about someone, so why don’t you pursue the relationship that you actually want instead of clinging to the false reality that maybe you can try to be with me to pacify my masochistic tendencies?  
GT: Im not doing that!!! I really meant it strider!  
TT: Stop fucking lying to me and for once in your life just do what you want without trying to appease everyone else!  
GT: FINE!!!!!!! 

[ golgothasTerror ceased pestering timaeusTestified at 11:43 ]

TT: Shit.

 

Sleep eludes you for a long time once you finally go to bed. After Jake signed off, you texted Roxy and Jane and told them that you’re an idiot and Jake is probably in need of a chat, though you know they’re likely asleep or, in Roxy’s case, getting hammered somewhere with her New York friends.

You’re upset with yourself, seething, for how pushy you were, how insistent that he was lying. He probably likes to be called a liar as much as the next guy. Which is not a lot. Now he’s mad at you and all you wanted to tell him was that you had the chance to kill yourself with no interference, and you didn’t.

You were such an ass that you didn’t get to tell him the one thing you really wanted to tell someone. You’re proud of yourself for not taking that step. Not that anyone else can share in that.

You sleep terribly, and wake up before your usual noon hour. You almost wake up at a respectable breakfast hour. Kind of.

You eventually leave your room to scrounge up a late breakfast. Like clockwork, your watcher is back in action. You barely spare him a glance as you move into the kitchen and scavenge yourself a bowl of Froot Loops. He follows you into the room, stands and watches when you sit at the table. If you were the type to get creeped out, he would seriously creep you the fuck out. 

A few minutes after you start digging into your cereal he sits in the chair across from you, and your shackles rise on cue.

“Now’s not the time for a heart to heart, pal,” you snap without pause. “I’m not exactly feeling up to it. So kindly fuck off.”

He sits patiently, waits for you to chew and swallow before speaking. “What happened to your face?” he asks you.

You study him across the table, slowly setting your spoon down with muted force. “I think you should mind your own business.”

“You are my business,” he replies. His voice is fairly proportional to his size, maybe a little deeper, but it had a nice tone to it. It wasn’t rumbling or garish. His voice was almost lilting.

“I’m nobody’s business,” you mutter. You poke a yellow loop and grimace at the tablecloth when your hand seizes up. Ow.

The watcher flinches slightly, and for the first time since you’ve seen him, he takes off his sunglasses. It alluded to the body guard atmosphere when he wore them, but without... Without them he looked like your average buff guy in a nice suit.

He smiles a little awkwardly, setting the shades down onto the table. “I’m not nearly as scary now, am I?”

Your face heats. He had been frightening. Imposing. Overbearing in his presence. By a simply physical change, he’s like a normal person invited into your home.

“Sorry,” you say, a little grumpily. “I didn’t mean to...”

“It is not a problem,” he says. “It’s a reasonable conclusion.” He sighs lightly, just a short breath past his lips. “Don’t begrudge me my position here, if you please. I am as much a person as the next gentleman. I’m not offended by your original assumptions,” he says as you open your mouth. “First impressions stick, even if untrue. Seeing a large man enter your home by employment of constant surveillance is not the best terms.”

You smile ruefully. “No, it wasn’t.”

The watcher smiles a little too. “I’m Equius.”

“Dirk,” you say. There seems to be not much else to say after that, so you give Equius a short smile and continue eating.

“You don’t have to respond to this if you don’t wish,” Equius begins again, and you refrain from sighing. “But I noticed that when I came in this morning, your brother was absent. He was supposed to stay for the whole night. Am I to suspect that your injuries are self-sustained due to my and your brother’s absence?”

This guy makes it hard to get angry when he asks everything so politely and without any ill-meaning. “No,” you say quietly. “I didn’t do this to myself. Though I didn’t really stop it.”

Equius combs his fingers through his ponytail, which lies over his shoulder. “That is... somewhat disconcerting.”

“What are you going to do? Call the cops?” you snap. “Going to try and lock him up? Because I’m telling you right now, he ain’t gonna roll over and get himself sent to jail. He’ll disclaim everything I say, if I say it, and everything you say before he’ll let anything touch his precious reputation.”

Hard blue eyes look at you and you feel small and embarrassed for your outburst.

“I don’t mean to belittle you,” Equius says, “but why this upstanding faith that your brother cares for nothing but himself and his materialistic possessions and statuses?” 

“It’s not faith,” you try to explain. You lift a hand to brush your hair out of your eyes. “It’s just... knowledge. It’s been a long time since he and I were close. My problems haven’t helped anything. You think he’s irresponsible for leaving last night without contacting you, right? Because I could have hurt myself?”

“Well, yes,” Equius admits. 

“Exactly my point. He doesn’t have any kind of thought process like that. It’s black and white where I’m concerned. He either ignores me and never comes home, or he comes home to beat the crap out of me and make himself feel better that he’s a shitty guardian by getting drunk before doing it so he’s got some kind of excuse. He’s just... Dave. He’s not even Bro anymore. He’s not family anymore.”

“I see,” he says slowly.

You stare at your cereal instead of meeting Equius’s gaze. Your mood is complete shit, but it feels... liberating, to finally talk to someone in person who doesn’t know you and your life inside out. Granted, he’s also paid to be here, but at least he’s just a normal guy.

“I’m tired,” you say after another few awkward minutes. “I guess I’ll... see you later. Or something.” You stand to clear your dishes, rinsing your bowl in the sink and putting away the box of cereal and milk.

“I understand,” Equius says, and he stands up as well. He looks at you for another moment, then leaves the room with a small smile. You see him sit in the armchair and procure a small paperback book. The title page art is... disturbing. You hurry back to your room.

You suppose that pesterchum is once again a horrible idea, but you hold onto the hope that Jake won’t be online, and Jane and Roxy will. Even though it’s realistically way too early for Roxy to be up if she went out last night, and Jane has morning things that she usually does before lazing around on her computer.

Whatever. You can dream.

Despite that, you sit at your computer and play a solid two hours of Bejeweled before even attempting to click pesterchum. 

It’s almost noon (three games of free cell later) and you’re finally logged on. It’s a disappointment and a relief when you see that nobody’s online. You resign yourself to finishing some schematics for an upgraded Autoresponder (with more independent thought, creative processes, humanoid emotion patterns and relationship building skills), and you’re glad not for the first time that you backed up all of his data every day before you broke him. He’ll be the same Autoresponder, with all of your sass and humour and a little bit of your newfound sadness. But he’ll be a little more himself and less a copy of you.

You’re finishing his new design, a pair of much less ridiculous shades that are a little thicker with several new adjustments for you in mind, when Jane logs on.

[ timaeusTestified began pestering gutsyGumshoe at 11:50 ]

TT: Greetings. I come bearing gifts of wisdom and knowledge.  
TT: By which, of course, I mean titillating banter and witty one-liners more than likely attached to dick jokes.  
GG: Why hello Dirk!  
GG: I’ve, um, heard some things. From Jake.  
TT: Oh, I just know I’m going to fuckin’ love this.  
GG: He says that you gave him a real swift kick in the ass, conversation-wise.  
GG: He also says that he’s not going to speak to you anymore.  
TT: Shocking development. May I have my say now, if you’re done being indirectly pissed at me?  
GG: Dirk, you know I’m not trying to being curt with you!  
TT: No, you’re being cruel by stomping on my feelings because you know that I feel bad about my argument with English.   
TT: However I’m willing to overlook it since I can’t entirely blame you. He is probably ultra super mega pissed at me and I know how close you two are.  
TT: To be clear I am sorry for being an asshole right now but I’ve had one whole fucking day to stew in this shit that I am feeling and before I could lay it on Jake I blew up on him (that's what she said) and he blew up back so it really didn’t happen.  
GG: Wow, what a horrible response.  
TT: You’re welcome.  
TT: Firstly, I’m about to drop a really shitty bomb on you.   
GG: Can’t wait. :B  
TT: My Bro beats me up.  
GG: That’s really not that believable since he’s never there and you constantly say how you used to be so close before family issues and his fame interfered.   
TT: I’m going to ignore you calling me a liar in the face of your impenetrable wall of rage on behalf of Jake.  
TT: Secondly, I was left alone for a whole night and didn’t kill myself.  
TT: I got a bath ready, grabbed our shitty VCR, plugged it in and was about to do something truly shocking when I just decided that in the long run it wasn’t worth it.  
TT: It wasn’t fair to you guys, for me to do any of this, and I’m sorry.

You feel your self-worth dropping by scores as she doesn’t reply, doesn’t even start to type something. There really is nothing to say, you reason with yourself. It’s the exact same as it ever was. You’ve got less than no chance in hell to get what you want, and if Jane would only get the hint and tell Jake how she feels, they could be happy. Disgusting, heartbreakingly, relievingly happy. Oh wait, that’s you.

The longer she goes without responding, the more you feel like you’re curling into yourself. Nothing left to say, but you can’t help but make yourself feel ten times worse.

TT: And since it’s taking you minutes to reply and you’re far from a slow reader, I’m assuming this is the end of our conversation.  
TT: Sorry, Jane. He’s all yours.

[ timaeusTestified ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe at 12:24 ]

That... was not what you fucking needed. Before you know it Roxy’s going to start calling you a liar, dismissing your words because you’re instable. Then again, she did call you a shitty brother. Though she didn’t mean anything bad by it, it wasn’t exactly what you wanted or needed to hear then, either.

After that, you find it hard to concentrate on much. You try to make adjustments to a few new tracks you're working on, but they all sound wrong. You attempt to read some web comics, but catch yourself rereading lines of text over and over. You try watching videos on YouTube, but get distracted easily by the comments or space out. You tweak a design for a miniature robot you’re working on, about the size of a deck of cards but fully functional like any other bots you’ve made. You get in several ruts with the design, never mind the schematics, and frustrated, put it away again. 

Equius pops in about every hour just to see if you’re okay. He probably noticed that something happened to give you such a rotten mood. A few times he offers to make you something to eat. You refuse. He brings you apple slices and yogurt anyways.

Eventually you settle on doing a few mindless things, mostly tumblr and background porn. The hours waste away under your pointless blogging, and before you know it you’re nodding off with your chin in your hand. You shut off your computer, slump into bed and your mind is wiped clean by soft sheets and Cal’s comforting presence.


	3. Recreation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated R for R4D!!!
> 
> (Dirk and Equius are the best fucking pony-robot-bro-friends ever and no one may tell me otherwise.)

The next few days, you don’t go on pesterchum. Again. You waste time on online games, max out your WoW time and buy more with your credit card, and then almost max it again. Equius checks on you frequently. Sometimes he brings you a little snack, some fruit or a bowl of some yogurt or a couple of cookies. You munch on them but do little else. The pain in your hand becomes manageable, and the bruises on your face dull.

You sigh and get up from your computer chair. It’s been five days since you’ve talked to any of your friends. Equius is sort of becoming a friend of yours, actually. He’s always here, trying to make light conversation if you appear receptive enough. When you leave your room for one reason or another, he waves or says hello or smiles at you. It’s a nice thing to have someone here that doesn’t expect anything of you. He seems to have moved into one of the two spare bedrooms down the hall at one point or another, but it was probably weeks ago. You haven’t been that perceptive lately.

You undress and grab a towel from the hall closet as you pass, walking to the bathroom buck-ass naked. You may move a little more quickly than you usually would if you knew Equius didn’t walk around as freely as he does now.

As you shower for more time than entirely necessary, you spend a lot of it thinking about how to fix things. You don’t see how you can properly apologize to Jake unless he talks to you, or at least unblocks you, which you think he did. He can’t be so stubborn that he’ll lock you out forever... can he?

You suppose that you could call or text him, but there’s no guarantee that he’ll even respond or pick up the phone. Roxy or Jane could maybe convince him to give you the time of day, but Jane’s pissed at you because Jake is pissed at you, so you don’t really need her help if she’s not even going to listen to your side of the story, or act like a fucking adult and formulate her own opinion. You love the guy, but you’re not being fucking brainless over it.

Roxy would help you out, but you still feel a little ill at ease since she insulted you. She’s too perceptive, and she would know that you’re still upset. She’ll also lose her mind when you tell her what you’ve told Jane and sort of told Jake. The thing is, she won’t leave it where they did. She’ll dissect it and analyze it with you and think of constructive ways to assess and deal with it. Roxy would want to help you get through it, not just be there for you and feel sorry.

Thirty minutes of wet and soapy heaven and you’re towelling your body dry. You use your blow dryer to style your hair in the mirror and belatedly remember to turn the fan on.

Just as you walk out of the bathroom, still naked as a jaybird, Equius rounds the corner. He is apparently coming to check on you.

His eyes almost bulge out of his head, then he rapidly spins en pointe and darts from the hall. “I am so sorry!” he shrieks.

“Not a thing, bro,” you say fluidly, then stop as you go to take a step.

Huh. You called him bro. That was pretty... easy.

Not to mention that reaction was cute as hell for a grown man peeking on another man’s angle of the dangle.

“That was... oh my word,” Equius frets in the other room. “I am so terribly sorry for this intrusion on your personal comfort and privacy.”

“It’s cool,” you say again. “But if you’re gonna come at it like an anime school girl then maybe I oughta clothe myself.”

“Yes, that would be best,” he wheezes. You go back to your room and get dressed.

Just as you pull a sweater over your head, you catch a peek of your skateboard in your closet. It was left deserted when you were put on unofficial house arrest by Bro. You wonder...

You grab your board and come into the living room.

“Hey, Equius?”

His head snaps up and he stands from the couch to look at you. Damn he’s tall. “Uh, yes?”

“Could we go outside? I wanna do some boarding.”

His eyebrows rise over his shades, but he smiles all the same. His teeth are a little crooked, you notice absently. “Wonderful idea. You could use some fresh air I bet.”

You nod, but don’t respond. You walk with Equius to the doorway and slip on your shoes as he does the same. You spot a pair of shades hanging by the door, your Bro’s extra pair or some shit. You grab them and slide them onto your nose.

Equius insists on driving you to the park because technically you’re not even supposed to be outside but fuck that, you’re gonna get your skate on. The park you like is a little ways away, and it’s only a few minutes before he’s parking the car across the street and you’re gone. 

Thank god it’s cloudy out today or otherwise the sun would hurt your eyes twice as much. It’s still uncomfortably bright for someone who’s been inside for three months, even with shades, but it’s manageable enough. Blinking a lot and looking around seems to help.

It’s weird being outside after so long not. It’s weird having light from every angle and so bright and clean, and the smell of the air is almost like a memory. You may be a little overdramatic right now.

You try not to think too hard on how you’re probably horribly rusty at skating, but you can’t help it. You’ll probably wipe out the first few times you just try to do a ramp.

Equius stays a respectable but comfortable distance behind you as you approach the park after crossing the street. You glance back to see him perch on a low-standing stone wall to watch you but be out of the way. Everything about him seems to be careful, measured, but not cold. In a certain light, he’s even timid.

Okay. Stop putting this off and just skate already. Ignore the other guys and one girl with flaming red hair who looks like she is having way too much fun for doing seriously intense stunts. She has no fear on her face, and she keeps asking everyone for high fives and saying, “Rad!” really loud.

Just skate already oh my god.

You stand on your board and push yourself over to a fairly shallow half-pipe. Your balance is okay, and you’re not wobbling. Your board is in nice shape, even for all the neglect you gave it. You spend an unnecessary amount of time staring at the miniscule drop before leaning forward and rolling down it.

You pass it with no problem, then try it a few more times with ease. You sort of overestimated your incompetence by about a thousand percent. You upgrade to a steeper drop, not the sickest half-pipe in the park but still substantial. You feel jazzed, excited. Skating was a way for you to let off steam when Bro pissed you off when you were younger. It used to be something you did together until he got too busy, too preoccupied, too everything. Now it’s yours and yours alone. You’re pretty sure he got rid of his board. You stand at the top of the slope for another nerve-frying second, then drop.

Predictably, you get about forty percent to the other side of the ramp before losing your balance and shooting your board out from under you. You land hard on your ass and just sit there. Fuck, that’s embarrassing.

Equius moves to come over and help you, but you wave him off and shout, “I’m okay!” The guys are giving you weird looks. No one’s probably brought a nanny to the skate park before.

You get up and fetch your board some ten feet away in the dip of a ramp. Then you perch again and start over.

The second time you don’t fall, but you still wiggle around a little stupidly to keep your balance. You do the ramp a few times, try a kickflip after you come up off the other side and let out a hoot when you pull it off. You pick a flat zone of the park to keep practicing your tricks, since those come a little easier. You do a 360 heelflip three times in a row and try not to do a little dance on your board. You combine a few tricks, first an ollie 180 followed by a late kickflip and then you try to top it off by doing an oldschool kickflip, but you catch your foot under the deck wrong and end up tumbling onto the ground. Your hands grind against the pavement, and you’re glad you wore a sweater and thick jeans or your legs and arms would be chewed up too.

Equius rushes over before you have a chance to stop him. He crouches next to you, grabs your wrists and grimaces at the gashes on your hands. “Why do you partake in this activity if you get hurt so badly?”

You laugh, even though your already injured hand is throbbing painfully. “You don’t get hurt if you’re good at it. I’m just out of practice. It’s not exactly safe, but wiping out is part of the deal.”

He doesn’t look appeased, but he lets you go, only to take you by the upper arms and lift you to your feet. “Maybe we should call it a day?”

“C’mon, we only just got here,” you whine. “And stop mommying me, it’s not cool.”

Equius manages to look worried and affronted at the same time. He lets you go, straightens your sweater then steps back. “Very well. I will be over here when you’re ready to go.”

You sigh as he walks away with a stiff back. Why do you even try to develop relationships if you fuck them up in one way or another eventually?

You funnel your anger at yourself into doing more stunts. You take a taller half-pipe over and over, and do a 360 ollie at each end twice in a row. You can hear one guy talking to his buddy about how sweet that was.

Migrating to the flat park again, you pick a rail and build up to it by completing an underflip directly after a pop shove-it, then kicking your board up to land on the rail and grind down it. The redhaired girl shrieks and cheers you on. 

“Sick moves, dude!” she hollers. You could really do without this kind of pressure, but at least you seem to remember everything.

You grind a few more times, simpler stuff, casual handsprings off your board and onto a ramp. 

You’re not going to admit this, but you took gymnastics when you were a kid, because you took karate and you wanted to be more agile and flexible. The two worked wonders hand-in-hand, and you finally achieved a black-belt at age seventeen. You suppose skating wouldn’t hurt to have some gymnastics in it.

You ride your board across the flat expanse of the park, a nice speed, then vault off, do a back handspring and land back on your board. The guys actually gasp.

A blush finds its way along your cheeks and you smother a grin. The redhaired girl approaches you as you turn to try again. “Hey man!” she says, holding up her hand for a high five.

Enthusiasm not lacking, you slap her hand as you ride by. You finish another double back handspring off and onto your board, then finally aim yourself towards Equius.

His face is impassive, much like it was in the months before you two spoke. “Have you finished for the day?”

You hop off your board and pick it up as you near him, refusing to meet his eyes through his sunglasses. “Yeah.”

Wordlessly he guides you back to his car, gets in behind the wheel while you slide into the passenger seat and toss your board in the back. In lieu of treating Equius like a dick, you’ve lost the jazz you felt from skating. Neither of you speak on the way back.

It takes you all the way until you’re back in the apartment and Equius is inching his way to the living room before you can blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

He turns to look at you just as he sits down in the armchair. Equius reaches up and removes his sunglasses, tucks them into the front pocket of his suit jacket. “I know. It’s okay.”

You shuffle one foot awkwardly against the floor as you sigh. “Look, I’m not trying to be the hugest asshole ever. I just—” You hesitate, trying to find the right words. “I forget that other people besides me have feelings until I hurt them.”

“You’re not the type to hurt someone’s feelings on purpose,” Equius tells you. You scoff, but he just smiles a little. “You’re not, truly. You may think that you’re being mean and impetuous because you want to be, but in the time I’ve been here, in all the time I’ve studied you, Dirk, you have never shown any malicious intent. You’re simply sad, and lonely, and looking for someone to care besides your friends, who are worlds away and probably don’t fully understand the seriousness of the situation.”

All you can do is gape stupidly at him. Wow. That was... horrifyingly accurate.

Equius grins. “I haven’t been sitting here doing nothing the entire time, you know. My job is to watch you, protect you. Other things have become apparent about your character in that time.”

You bristle instinctively. Yeah, he’s paid to be here, to keep you from doing stupid shit to yourself. Yet he’s pulling the same garbage that a shrink would. He’s analyzing you, breaking you up and categorizing you. You can’t catch a fucking break.

“Great,” you snap, dropping your board carelessly onto the floor. “Guess I’m a really awesome guinea pig then. Hope you’re having fun.”

Equius’s expression changes, but before he can try to take back the words, you turn and book it to your room. You deadbolt the door behind you out of habit, even though it’s not Bro who’s chasing you. You swallow a hard lump in your throat. Your hand lingers on the lock, but you can’t bring yourself to unlock it. You can’t let yourself take the chance.

You crouch at the door, listen for footsteps. You hear none. He’s not coming after you.

That doesn’t mean anything. It just means he’s not brave enough to try and fix it. That is incredibly familiar to you.

After a few minutes of waiting for something that’s not going to happen, you decide that this is stupid. You migrate to your computer, sit in your chair, and just sort of stare at it. You rely far too much on something that gives you happiness and grief at the same time.

Eventually you turn it on, start your browser and begin opening your usual tabs. You catch up on your favourite web comics, watch a few My Little Pony videos on YouTube, do some social justice blogging on tumblr in the LGBT tag, and vehemently ignore pesterchum.

By four o’clock you think that you’re probably a huge tool, and by seven o’clock you confirm it. You’re officially avoiding your friends until further notice. They are showing you nothing but negative reinforcement, that you are indeed not necessary. Jake’s pissed at you, Jane’s really pissed at you, and Roxy is so preoccupied with actually having a mother-daughter relationship, she isn’t online enough to keep up. You think this development may be better for everyone.

You go to bed feeling like the biggest piece of shit in the world. You haven’t felt this since this whole thing started, and you don’t particularly miss it.

It’s another two days before you realize that Roxy is nothing if not one persistent bitch.

She starts texting you after Jane (finally) relays to her what you told her a week ago. At first it’s just “hey”s and “hows it goin”s. Then when you don’t respond, she starts sending you full sentences: “dirk dont u ignore me, we gots some shit 2 talk about”. After a full day of ignoring her, she evolves into writing full paragraphs of accusations, disregard for your “ignoringness” and frightening perseverance to make you talk again.

By supper time, you can’t take it anymore. You whip out your phone angrily, shoving your plate of noodles aside and start texting rapid-fire.

DIRK: Okay, Rox, this is how this is going to work.  
DIRK: According to Jake and Jane, I am one disposable motherfucker. Admittedly I started the fight with Jake by being a huge asshole, but he reciprocated that. I’m not taking full blame for something that someone else helped along. And I’m TRYING to get his attention so I can apologize, but he’s blocked me on pesterchum and wouldn’t answer any of my texts, so it’s a seriously no-win situation.  
DIRK: Secondly, Jane is being the most enormous and brainless doofus I have ever seen. She didn’t even believe anything I told her. She started ignoring me in fact. She took Jake’s account as gospel and completely shut me out. So I’m fucking done with trying to impress people that don’t want anything to do with me anymore.   
DIRK: They want me gone? FINE. I’m fucking gone.  
DIRK: Now what do you have to say?  
ROXY: jakes in amerca

There really is no description for your reaction. The closest word would be “jarred”. You just sort of stare at your phone without seeing it, but the text is still there. Jake is supposedly in America. In your country. Probably with Jane.

Finally you shake yourself out of your space mission and manage to reply.

DIRK: Imagine that. What brings him here?  
ROXY: drik lets not play the dumb game ok  
DIRK: Excuse me, I’m genuinely fucking curious. I don’t know why he’d be here.  
ROXY: omg fine lets do this  
ROXY: hes here 2 visit us, and specificly u  
DIRK: No. He’s here to visit us. Period.  
ROXY: not jsut us, but you  
DIRK: Us.  
ROXY: no u  
DIRK: Roxy stop trying to make me assume that everything doesn’t fucking suck right now between me and Jake ok? We are in such deep friendship shit right now, and this latest piece of shit is just a cherry on the cake.  
DIRK: At this point I may as well call it a friendshit.  
ROXY: your sense fo inflallabal confidence that he is so in hate with u is kinda weird  
ROXY: its like ur tryin to get some kind of rivalmance goin in hurr  
DIRK: What the fuck is that, even? No, whatever it is. I love that blistering idiot, and it seems to be the most difficult thing in the world for me and everyone else to try and forget it.  
ROXY: but wai do u want 2 forget about it?  
ROXY: its srsly one of your helathesits relationshits  
ROXY: *healthiest  
DIRK: Healthy, sure. Falling in love is good for you. Endorphins and hormones and whatever. Sure. What ain’t healthy is crashing so hard you go crazy.   
ROXY: u dont seem so crazy anymoar not that u ever ddi  
DIRK: That is debatable. It seems to fluctuate, depending on what shitpile I’ve sunk myself in.  
ROXY: and wat shitpile would that b  
DIRK: Most recently? I’ve developed a sort of... bond with my watcher. We talk. His name is Equius.  
ROXY: oooooooooo sounds hawt  
DIRK: Wow. Oh my god no. Just no. He’s not even... no.  
ROXY: orly  
DIRK: Well, okay, that’s mean. He’s nice and companionable enough, but he’s... somewhat strange. One moment he’s assertive and stoic, and then another he’s shrieking bloody murder and apologizing ten times a minute because he accidentally saw my junk.  
ROXY: OMG!!!!!!!!!!  
ROXY: ur watcher totes saw ur dirk dick!!!!  
DIRK: Which is sadly the first time it’s ever gotten anyone’s eyes but my own, and maybe Bro’s from when I was little.  
ROXY: what do u think of him  
ROXY: like from ur initial opinion to now, whats diffretn  
DIRK: Well he is friendly, very companionable where I initially thought he was cold and calculating. He wears these shades that block his eyes, and it’s hard to read him through them. He’s accommodating; he took me out to a skate park yesterday so I could get into it again for something to do. He did that even though I’m not supposed to leave the house. And he’s completely docile when it matters. He has “watched” me for three months, so it’s safe to say that he’s noticed some things like my irritability. Even though when he told me that I completely blew up on him and took offense that I was some lab rat, and now we’re not speaking.  
DIRK: As I text, we’re sitting at the same table and not saying anything or even looking at each other.  
DIRK: Okay, now I’m looking, but he’s just munching on his garlic toast with this blank look.  
ROXY: you shoudl talk to him, fix it  
ROXY: hes probly just waitin 4 u to do it  
ROXY: since he knows so much about ur state he might want u to take that first step to help urself  
DIRK: I know. I know that, and yet I can’t do it. Just like Jake, and Jane. I can’t bring myself to apologize, because I get this sense of pride that it’s all not really my fault, everyone else is the bad guy, even though I KNOW it’s my fault.  
ROXY: distri u fix it right now young man  
DIRK: Ugh, hold on then.

You glance up from your phone again to see Equius set his toast down with a minute sigh. No timr like the present, you suppose.  
“So, Equius,” you say expansively. He barely glances up at you—you notice because his shades are in his pocket—before giving a tiny smile and looking down again.

“What would you like, Dirk?” he asks.

You huff. “I’m sorry. For what I said to you.”

Equius looks up at you with genuine surprise. “Oh,” he says. “Well, thank you. I wasn’t really that concerned about it, to be honest. Slipped my mind.” He pauses. “What brought this on?”

“You weren’t... upset about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all. Did I seem to be?”

You squint at him, searching his eyes. “Well, yeah. You’ve been down since we got back from the park. I assumed it was because of my tactless assholery.”

“It’s not that.” Equius smiles sadly. “This issue happens to be of personal nature.”

“Oh,” you say. There’s a long pause. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“N-no!” he says quickly, a little sharply. His face is angry for a brief second before it’s gone, and he’s solemn again.

“Right,” you murmur. “Sorry.” You stand to take your dishes to the sink, feeling like a huge asshole for prying, but also feeling unfoundedly angry that he won’t share his problems with you. You basically gave him your whole spiel of shit and he won’t even open up to you a little? He obviously has his reasons for keeping it to himself. He probably views you as his job, some kid he’s got to look after. He’s quite a bit older than you, not even the same generation. He wouldn’t lot himself in with you.

You hasten back to your room without looking at him, and he’s so absorbed in whatever he’s thinking about that he doesn’t even notice. Now would be an opportune moment to off yourself, since he’s so distracted. Except you’re losing that urge now. It would work out like that, when you can do it you don’t want to anymore, but when you wanted to you couldn’t do it.

You’re still wallowing in your emotions, your failures and your relationships or lack thereof, but you don’t want to die anymore. You want everything to end but in the way that you want things to get better, not stop. Instead of suicide, now you’re considering becoming a hermit. You never saw yourself getting to this point when this started, but now it has, and you’re not sure what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't skateboard. How do words with skateboarding. Help.  
> If you don't care about any of the terms then Dirk is a nimble fucker and just keeps doing a lot of kicky flippy thingies.  
> Latula! :D (oh my goodness I just love her)


	4. Friends in Hired Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated P for ponies. Let's be honest, we all saw this one coming.

One day later you figure out what it is you want to do. You pick up the phone and call your Bro. 

It rings three times before he answers. You’re so surprised that you take a second to respond to his quick and distracted “Hello?” There’s idle noise in the background. He probably didn’t even look at the number.

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless. “Um, it’s Dirk.”

There’s silence on the other end, then you hear muffled voices and another pause and the background noise disappears. “What do you want, kid?” Bro snaps at you. He’s alone now.

You hope that he’s pissed because of something at work, but you’re probably not that lucky. “I just, uh... I wanted to call and tell you that I don’t want to kill myself. Not really, anyways. I don’t feel like that anymore.”

Bro snorts at you through the receiver. “And why would I want to know that?”

You anger bristles instantly at his insolent tone. “Maybe because now you don’t need to pay someone to stay here at all hours of the day and neglect his own life just to watch over me. And maybe so you can get me re-diagnosed for some other kind of crazy so you have some sob story to tell the tabloids about your poor younger brother who needs you so badly and how you help him out whenever you can in your spare time when you’re really working overtime or fucking some hooker in a sleazy motel bathroom. Maybe so you can finally leave me the fuck alone, stop beating me and making me feel like shit and just stop even coming to see me unless you want to be a family again.”

You pause for breath, and it sounds like he’s going to start up, but you’re not finished. “But I know you don’t! I know for a fact that you hate me, for some fucking reason that probably reflects on you saving me from the fire while Mom and Dad had to die because you weren’t fast enough and neither were the authorities. And I don’t think you want to sacrifice any part of your career for me, because it matters more than I do!” You’re screaming at him now, and you can’t stop. You can hear Equius outside your door, but you locked it so he can’t come in. “And I think that you’re disappointed that now I don’t want to die, because if I somehow succeeded then you’d be scott-free wouldn’t you? You’d be free of me and you’d get to do whatever you wanted without ever having to worry about your nuisance of a little brother ever again. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

You pause, to see if he’ll say anything to discount your words, somehow argue his case. If he’ll do anything. He doesn’t. He sits on the other end of the line, and you can hear him breathing just barely. He probably moved the phone away from his face, since you were loud. When it’s clear that he won’t say anything, you add, “Don’t ever come home again.” Then you hang up.

You dart to your computer and sign onto pesterchum.

Everyone’s online, but no one talks to you when you sign on. You send everyone a greeting of some sort, Jane’s and Jake’s interlaced with an apology, and wait.

Nobody responds. 

You could scream with frustration, so you do. You grit your teeth and scream, yell angrily at a poster that your brother gave you on the premiere night of one of his earliest movies, as an apology for missing your eighth grade open house. You scream because Jake doesn’t love you, because he’s ignoring you. You scream because no matter what your friends have doubt in you, whether big or small. You scream because your brother’s an asshole, a tactless brain-dead asshole who doesn’t give two fucks about his little bro.

You stop screaming, and you hear Equius losing his shit in the hallway. Sighing hard, you move to the door and unlock it, open it just as he goes to pound his fist on it again.

You stare at each other for a minute, you blankly and he worriedly. Neither of you speak, though he looks like he wants to. After he apparently decides that you’re okay, he takes a step forward. When you don’t flinch or step away, he steps again and sweeps you up into a huge hug.

Equius is warm, so fucking warm and so big and his arms swallow you but he’s so tender, even now. You cling onto his shoulders, bury your head in his chest, and cry. You stand there and cry all over him and you just think about every horrible fucking thing and just keep crying. You’re making a disgusting mess of his suit but he doesn’t seem to even care. He just pets your hair, holds you close. He doesn’t say anything. It’s been so long since you remember being held while crying. You’re not even sure if you do remember.

Eventually you start to calm down, toned-down sobs replacing your exasperating gasping hysterical crying. Your legs feel weak and you start to let go of him so you can sit down, but Equius holds you tightly.

“I thought maybe you were getting better,” he whispers, just barely loud enough so you can hear him. “What happened?”

You laugh wetly into his jacket. “I am getting better. That’s the problem.” When you feel his confusion in the tenseness of his arms, you finally pull away to look at him. Your knees wobble but you stay standing. You grip his arms firmly, for stability in more than one sense. “My friends didn’t believe how serious my problem was, I don’t think. Then, it seemed like they were supportive enough. But they didn’t see it, not really. They knew I was upset but I think they assumed it was some kind of elevated depression, not an actual suicidal bender. They think the first time was just a huge overreaction, a one-time blow-up. They didn’t believe me when I said Bro was abusive.” You laugh a little weirdly, even though none of this is funny. “They didn’t care when I said I wasn’t suicidal anymore, because they never understood that it was an ongoing problem until now.”

You let go of him to wipe your eyes. “I’m tired of this. Getting better helps, but this sort of influence is doing shit-all for my confidence and mental well-being. I need to get out of here. I hate this apartment. I hate my Bro. I hate my friends, even if I love them so much I can’t stand it. I love them so much it physically hurts that they don’t feel the same. I would die for any one of them.”

Equius takes your hand very gently, and leads you from your room. He sits you on the couch, ventures off to the kitchen after pulling a blanket over your shoulders. You smile at the unintended irony of him mothering you.

He comes back with a bowl of popcorn big enough for the two of you to seriously wolf down, and puts a disc into the DVD player. The entire first season of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

“Dude, you don’t need to endure this stuff for me,” you begin, but he waves you off with a smile. 

“It’s my favourite show,” he tells you, and you smirk. “No, seriously. I watch it very often. My daughter loves it to pieces, even though it’s much past her age group, and I still introduced it to her.”

You cough and choke on a piece of popcorn you were about to swallow. “You’ve got a kid?”

“Yes, Nepeta. She just turned fifteen actually. My wife and I had her when we were quite young.” Equius chuckles dryly at your obvious surprise. “Do I not seem like the parental type?”

You bark with laughter, and your throat feels hoarse. “No, you do. Totally do. This explains a lot of your behaviour actually. You almost act like my mother hen sometimes.”

Equius pales, then blushes significantly. “Ludicrous. I would never. Perhaps I would be... brotherly. Or patronly. Certainly not... No. Nothing of that sort.”

His reactions are legitimately the cutest thing you’ve ever seen a grown man do. “If you don’t mind my asking, how old were you when you had Nepeta?”

“Well,” Equius begins with a thoughtful sigh, “Aradia was seventeen and a half when she had her, but I was eighteen, nearly nineteen. I’ve never been happier than I have since I started my family.”

You look away as Twilight Sparkle blurs, she and the other ponies being introduced in the first episode. “So, you have to stay away from them because of your work. Because of me.”

“Dirk,” Equius scolds lightly, reaching for your hand across the popcorn bowl. He grabs your buttery fingers and squeezes once before letting go. “My line of work is never a chore. Not when I have people to protect and attend to. As much as my family needs me, they both know that what I do is important. I see them often enough to get by until time allows for some vacation days.”

You swallow with difficulty. “Since I’m getting better, and I’m more than old enough to cook and take care of myself, you won’t have to be here much longer. And I’ve got more than enough fingers in... Dave’s cashcow pies to help you out when you need it. So you don’t have to be away from them as much. But you could... um, come visit. And stuff.” You rarely use any of the money Bro... you mean Dave leaves you to “live off of”. He fills your bank accounts with ridiculous amounts of cash to quell your rage at him. It doesn’t help anything when money isn’t what you want, though it helps when you can pay to have your friends visit. They haven’t been to visit in a while, for a few obvious reasons.

“That’s... awfully generous, but it’s not necessary. I enjoy my work.” He studies you strangely for a few minutes, and you’re so embarrassed that you just offered to pay handsomely for his friendship that you may crawl under the couch and die.

You stop talking, and the few idle questions he asks you merely answer with “hmm”s or shakes of your head. After a while he gets the picture, and stops asking.

You spend the entire day and many of the wee hours of the morning watching My Little Pony in relative silence. You pause twice to get more snacks, and pee breaks are intermittently scattered. It’s one of the best and most calming days you’ve ever had, and by half-way through the season you’re openly talking with him about character up and downs, plot and even preferability in terms of personality for actual people. You ask him why he specifically loves Rarity so much (you’re not buying into the whole “she’s so royal without needing the parameters of legitimate royalty to tie down her prowess” bullshit) after a long pause of your conversation, and he doesn’t answer. Finally, you glance sidelong at Equius to see him slumped over his armrest, snoring away. You smirk, reaching to shut the TV and DVD player off. What a cute man. You’re considering telling him that just to see his incredibly fucking adorable reaction.

You grab his ankles and pull him to lie evenly on the couch. The effort has you grunting and huffing. He is a solid motherfucker. He doesn’t even stir. You put a few pillows under his head, drape a blanket over him—and another one when his feet and lower calves stick out—and head off to bed.

You sleep the most peaceful you have in a long time, and in your dream you’re a pony in Equestria, you and a larger-than-life navy-coloured pony who looks more than familiar.

\---

Two more days, and you haven’t heard a single fucking word from your friends except a few quick and dirty texts with Roxy. All you can discern is that she’s tied up with some kind of trip. She wouldn’t tell you anything more, and got irritated with you when you pried and stopped replying. That happens to be the most irritating fucking thing you’ve ever experienced, because she happens to be a master prier when it comes to privy information of the personal variety. You could strangle her, if only she were here.

You and Equius are practically hanging out instead of randomly acknowledging each other throughout the day. He takes you out to the skate park again, and you sort of chat with the few people there, but you mostly stay with him. You get him on a board long enough for him to roll down a tiny ramp, and you watch him lose his mind about breaking the board, he doesn’t think he can do this, oh good lord Dirk get me off of this thing right this instant I’m going to scream.

You laugh so hard your sides are cramping, especially at his irked and embarrassed expression, but you see a smile come out of his frown, so it’s not all bad. You make him promise to try again next time, and he looks more than a little pale when he does. You pat his shoulder but your huge grin deflects from your comforting gesture.

Equius shares some of his interests with you too, which is nice even though they’re nothing what you expected. He likes literature, which you assumed, but it’s mostly factual writing or raunchy weirdo romance novels about hugely muscular men and wanton women in the standard holy-shit-how-was-this-garbage-published format. He loves horses, and he grew up on a dude ranch in Arizona before he had to move into the city after Aradia got pregnant. His parents still keep the place running, though, and he visits whenever he can. He plans to take the place over when his parents retire. You refrain from vehemently asking if he’ll take you. 

One thing about him that’s actually the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever heard is that he never swears. Ever. No curses, no foul language, not even when he’s mad. You ask him what he says when he gets really fucking mad, and he blushes and tells you “Fiddlesticks.” You cover your smile behind your hand, and try not to laugh but it’s a battle. He notices and punches your arm lightly, but you end up falling off your chair. He cooes over you for the rest of the day and apologizes at least ten times. You check your arm before bed that night and see a nicely forming huge-ass bruise the size of his fist. Holy shit.

Despite your good times with Equius, your brother’s absence (you mostly refer to him as Dave now, since he’s really no kind of Bro to you anymore), and your uplifting mental status, you still can’t get over Jake’s blatant ignorance of you. It’s hurting you deep, where you thought you’d locked your feelings away. You were okay with him not reciprocating, just being bros. You were okay with him being a little bit of a mess about it, because you were too and it was a little gratifying to know he at least felt bad about it. What you’re not okay with is him completely avoiding you, hating you, ignoring you. That’s not okay. 

You feel happy and calm with Equius, he makes you laugh and you have a lot of common interests, but you know that he knows you’re still raw and bleeding right under the surface. You don’t think there’s anything you can tell him that he won’t already know at this point. He wasn’t kidding about his observation skills.

It’s the early morning and you and Equius are chatting over a box of Wheaty-O’s when there’s a knock on the door. You glance at him apprehensively, and he rises to his feet, slipping on his shades before turning to go answer it. Neither of you wear shades when it’s just you two—you usually don’t wear them because you never fucking go outside and it still feels strange without them being AR—but you slip Dave’s extra pair on anyways, just in case Equius lets them in.

What you’re not expecting is to see your pseudo-guardian and big brother walk into the kitchen behind a very displeased Equius.

Immediately your face hardens and you stand to your full height. “I thought my last phone call was pretty damn clear, Dave.”

He starts as you use his name, his real name. You’ve never called him Dave. You call him Bro, but not anymore. “There are some things that need sayin’,” he tells you, his accent thick.

“There ain’t anything you have to say that I want to hear,” you spit. “Get out.”

“Kid, would you just—” Dave tries again. You slap his hand away as he reaches out to you.

“No,” you shout. “I’m not listening to you. You never listened, so I’m not gonna either. Get. Out.” You feel Equius’s hard eyes on you, calculating, analyzing if you need him to intervene. You give him a minute shake of your head.

Dave’s face gets some of its usual hardness, something you recognize. You step back without meaning to, and Equius and Dave both notice. Equius gets between you and Dave calmly enough, but his face is hard. “That will be enough, Mr. Strider.”

“For Christ’s sake, if he’d just listen for a goddamn minute, I could try to explain,” Dave hisses to him, as if you can’t hear. You glare daggers at him as the two “adults” talk in hushed tones. You don’t hear Equius’s response, but Dave’s brow lowers significantly. 

“You’re going to talk to me like that in my own house?” he asks incredulously, his face humoured.

You glare at him. “This hasn’t been your house for a long time. You need to actually be here for that to stick.”

Equius glances over his shoulder at you, and Dave’s angry gaze falls on you, too. You gently move Equius aside, and he goes without complaint. “Dave,” you begin, slightly relishing in his second flinch, “I’m going to make this as easy for you to understand as possible. We haven’t been a family in a long damn time. You know that. So what the hell are you trying to do here, mend a burned-down bridge?”

Dave’s lips harden into a line, but he doesn’t immediately reply. He takes a few moments to apparently try and find the right words. “It’s starting to dawn on me that your problems haven’t been some teen rebellion bullshit because Mom and Dad died. And I know it shouldn’t have taken me that damn long,” he adds as you and Equius look at him like he’s a huge idiot, “but it did. I was preoccupied with everything, mostly myself. It didn’t occur to me that you would be having actual problems in your life, because you were always such a good kid.” He smiles strangely, looking down at the floor. His eyes are seeing something else. “Christ, you were such a good kid. Good grades, good attitude, maybe a little lippy but you were still polite enough. I just...” He rubs his face. “I never saw you actually having problems because you were so perfect. You still are.”

You press your lips together to stop them from shaking. “So you just assumed that I was lying all this time to get your attention?” Equius reaches down to brush his fingers against your arm, but leaves you alone otherwise. 

Dave’s expression is sheepish and ashamed. “At first, yeah. All those years ago, I didn’t think that you’d have trouble with girls since you’ve got your own bit of weird charm. You’re endearing in a familiar way. People like you. But then you started changing. You started becoming introspective, alone. You went out less, had less friends. You spent more time on your computer than anything else. I didn’t understand any of it.”

You pinch your nose, even though you want to rub your wet eyes. “I don’t want to listen to this. If there was ever a fucking problem, why was talking to me such a goddamn issue? How many times did I have to call you when you were out, ask you to stay home and watch movies or go out for bad fast food? How many times did I have to want to spend time with you to get you to see that I just wanted my brother? And your grand solution was getting abusive because,” you pause for breath, and you’re shouting, “somehow, it was impossible for us to communicate?” You can’t believe he’s trying to excuse his actions by explaining how he didn’t understand you when you were fucking thirteen.

Dave opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “No,” you say, and it’s uneven, almost a sob. “Get out. I’m done with you. Get out and never come back, and I’ll do the same.”

Now Equius turns to you, his eyes serious. Dave’s expression is similar. “Dirk, this is not a valid solution for—” Equius begins gently.

“How many times do I have to lose my shit before people realize that I’m not fucking joking? I’m done here.” You poke Dave hard in the chest. “I’m more than done with you, with this place, this false family. I’m done with being treated like some kind of leper because I’m finally recovering and not acting psycho anymore. I’m so. Fucking. Done.” You shove Dave in the chest, hard, and he staggers back. 

“Leave,” you spit coldly. “We’re not brothers anymore.” His shocked expression strikes you in the chest and makes your throat swell painfully with emotion. “And no, I don’t want any of your goddamn money, so there’s really nothing left for you to say.”

Dave’s face is pained, and you can’t understand why. He did everything that led up to this, every single goddamn thing was his fault. He estranged himself, he buried himself in work, he ignored your pleas for attention, and then he assumed you were some prat who needed to act crazy and suicidal to get his attention, so obviously the only solution was to beat you? There is nothing that you did except, what? Not try hard enough? No, you did that. And after two or three years of it, you were tired. Ignorance is only bliss for one person. 

Dave walks forward, and you’re prepared to knock him back with a swift kick to his stupid face, but he just tucks his arms under yours and pulls you close. He hugs you so tightly that it’s hard for you to breathe.

Your lip trembles and you bite it. You try so hard not to react. You try so goddamn hard. But you cave. With a rumbling sob, you throw your arms around your brother and bury your face in his neck. 

His fingers clench in your t-shirt and in your hair. He keeps whispering things to you, but you can’t hear him because you’re thinking too loud. You keep trying to say something, “let go” or “I hate you” or “why”, but all you end up saying is, “Bro.”

You feel his lips press to your hair, and he murmurs, “I’m sorry. So sorry, kid.”

“No you’re not,” you choke out, but you grip him harder all the same. “You knew what you were doing. There’s no fucking excuse for it.”

Dave sighs, an uneven breath that stirs your hair and makes you shiver. “Yeah,” is all he says. You draw back—ignoring the clench in your gut when his hands tighten on you—to see his face. 

His eyes are unbearably sad, giant red chasms of despair, regret, and shame. He looks at you and his mouth shakes, his lips moving as if he’s going to speak but he knows he shouldn’t, because words won’t fix this. His gaze traces your face, your healing back eye. There are no words for whatever he’s feeling, but you suppose something close would be “broken”. 

Dave sniffles, and to your shock he wipes at his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters.

You let him go quickly, stepping back and painfully ignoring the look he gives you when you do. Equius wordlessly give him a tissue, which he uses to wipe his face.

Swallowing, you wait until he’s in a moderately decent state to continue talking. “So,” you say quietly. “What did you come here for?”

Dave pauses before answering you, presumably to even his breathing. “I just wanted to... clear everythin’ up, I guess.” He smiles wryly. “And to let you know something.”

Your hackles rise with suspicion. “And what would that be?” you snap, even though you try not to.

“I paid to get your friend in America. I arranged to get him here.” Dave hesitates, as if the next part may be a bit too much for you to handle, but you think you’re already this close to hyperventilating when he adds, “And they’re all coming here.”

You let it sink in, slowly, like a balm. Then your legs give out, you fall over and pass out.


	5. Surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated A for AAAAAAALPHA KIDS! :D

Awakening to an annoying, constant ringing lets you know that one: someone’s calling you, two: kitchen floors were not meant to be collapsed on, and three: you were deposited in your bed post-collapse. Your head throbs from where you hit it on... something. You’re not too keen on the details.

Groggily you sit up, assume that it’s late afternoon and then confirm it when you look at your phone. You check your missed calls and see all of them but one are from Roxy. The other, the most recent one that just woke you, is from Jane.

You grumble non-committedly when you see that. She finally thinks you’re worthy to talk to. How nice. You weren’t sure how much more grovelling you could do for her and Jake. It was a thin stretch from the beginning. You suppose friends were worth it.

You get up and throw on a sweater, then venture out of your room to find something to eat. You’ve been out for a few hours, and your breakfast had been interrupted. Food is necessary. You’re a few levels of shocked when you see Equius and Dave lounging on the sofa in the living room, watching some A&E show. You think it’s Intervention.

You hover silently in the kitchen as you eavesdrop on their conversation.

“... and I’m merely pointing out that it’s something you may have to deal with later on,” Equius is saying. “Dirk has been... unhappy, for a long time. Even when his suicidal thoughts diminished, he did appear to get better, but there was always the looming threat of his friends, and you. Neither could allow him to truly move forward and fully escape or heal from the problem.”

Dave makes a mild shrugging motion with his arm, which is splayed across the back of the couch. “Tell me something I didn’t know already. The kid’s needed something more than... supervision, for a long time. He learned how to take care of himself fuckin’ ages ago. It’s friends that he needed.”

Equius glances at Dave, and must notice you in the corner of his eye, if his raised eyebrow is anything to go by. “He requires family, as well.”

“Tch,” Dave snorts. “He hasn’t needed me. Wanted me, maybe. And he asked for me enough when he was a kid. But I... I always found something more important. Something I thought was more important.”

Unimpressed, Equius glances at the television, where an alcoholic woman explains what her dependency feels like. Dave wordlessly watches. 

You don’t think the show is a coincidence, but then again, there are worse things that have been. Dave flinches visibly when the woman goes on to explain that most everything in her life revolves around whether or not she’s had a drink. And maybe Dave’s not at that stage yet, maybe he could still get there, but it doesn’t have to be outrageous to be a problem. 

Dave sighs hard, running a hand through his hair. “It isn’t that simple,” he mutters, as if someone had voiced your thoughts.

Equius says nothing. You slip back into the kitchen, pilfering a few things Equius no doubt left on the counter specifically for you, and sneak back to your room.

First thing you do is delete all five of your missed calls. Second thing you do is log onto pesterchum and open your usual Internet tabs. Third thing you do is snarf down your Doritos and orange slices.

Everyone’s online. Big fucking deal. You pester Jane first as citrus dribbles down your chin.

[ timaeusTestified began pestering gustyGumshoe at 15:42 ] 

TT: Howdy, Jane.  
GG: And a howdy to you as well, Dirk.

Colour you surprised. An actual response.

TT: ‘Spose I’ll start this conversation off with the standard ‘I’m sorry about being a somewhat heartless weenie to dearest Jake and I implore that you find it in the goodness of your heart to honestly forgive me’.  
GG: You know, it detracts from the apology when you’re sarcastic about it.  
TT: After over a week of ignorance, my patience for appealing to your better nature is wearing thin.  
TT: Take it or leave it.  
GG: Alright, alright, fine! I forgive you, even though in my anger I may have neglected to hear your side of the story.  
TT: How gracious of you to think of that now.  
GG: I wasn’t thinking clearly, so don’t hold it entirely against me. And Jake may have... enlightened me that he was equally capricious to you.  
TT: The wonders of miscommunication between four people astound me.  
TT: Anyway, I’m severely over-willing to put the entirety of it behind us. Because wow, what a huge pain in the ass.  
GG: Agreed!  
GG: And let me state, for the record, that I missed you. I didn’t want to be cross with you, it just sort of happened.  
TT: I know. These sorts of things tend to happen without consent.

You leave that little bomb there, for Jane to do with what she pleases. Touch it and start the conversation, or let it be and ignore the (yet another) problem.

You smile wryly when she ignores it completely.

GG: Say, Dave mentioned he was going to come see you today. Whatever happened to that?  
TT: Wait, what?  
GG: Uh, Dave? Your Bro? He told us he was going to see you. What happened?  
TT: No no, I got that part. But what the hell, all of a sudden you guys are chummy with my brother now?  
GG: Well... In our defense, he contacted US. We just sort of... stuck with it.  
TT: So you could bring Jake here, right?  
GG: Ah, well, yes.  
TT: Good. Great. I hope you guys have a rip-roaring fuckin’ time.  
GG: Dirk, come on, don’t be like that. We brought him here for you! You need us now.  
TT: All of a sudden we come to this conclusion? Did it take you a month to realize that I wasn’t lying the entire time, about ANYTHING? Or did it take an in-depth phone call with my abusive brother to let your minds “clear”?  
GG: Condescension aside, yes. We didn’t believe you. Actually that’s a lie. Roxy believed your story about Bro from the very beginning. She said she’d been suspecting for a while. But... the other stuff, we had no idea...  
TT: Literally all you had to do was believe me. It could not have been that hard to discern.  
TT: I was gone for two months, and not by choice. Did you think I planned an entire charade just to make everyone think I was crazy?  
TT: That is in no one’s best interest. So why would I, a relatively fucking smart guy, want to do anything so meaningless?  
TT: Even Roxy must have seen that it would get me nowhere if I played everything up. I couldn’t even get pity, and I was serious.  
TT: Riddle me that, Jane.

She’s silent for a while, then Roxy is pestering you, and you decide that you’ve laid into Jane for long enough.

TG: leav her alone drik  
TT: She goddamn started it, and I’m tired of everyone calling me a liar, and then still acting like it’s my fault.  
TT: She’s admitted she was wrong and has yet to apologize. I get that she’s proud, but this is fucking ridiculous.  
TG: just knomk it off ok? were all sry  
TT: No one seems to be too eager to say it. Or is that because I’VE been apologizing for the past however long? Everything’s my fault, except not really, but I’m still sorry for it. So now you guys feel bad?  
TG: well, yeah  
TT: I’m about to throw something.  
TG: cmon its not like we ddi it on porpoise  
TG: *purpose  
TT: No, you didn’t.  
TG: ther u go, gj  
TG: anywhore  
TG: about us comin 2 visit u  
TT: You can all stay exactly where you are, please and thank you. I’ve had plenty of... whatever this has been to last me a lifetime. I can make-do with pesterchum and text messages.  
TG: thats 2 bad, cause were in houston

You jolt when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You hear Dave breathe a “finally” before your eyes dart to your window. If you start immediately, you can lay fucking waste to that window and make an escape. Before they...

Jesus Christ they’re fucking _here._

TG: actually were here, as in ur place  
TG: supriiiiiiise!

You hear Roxy, in the flesh, actually say that as you get the message, as Dave undoubtedly opens the front door. You knew Jake was in America, and you were solidly ignoring that it was a thing. That was working extremely well for you. But this... They’re all here, and Roxy wasn’t kidding, they were coming to see you, and now they’re here and all of them, and Jane, Roxy, Jesus fucking shit ¬Jake. You’re going to throw up.

You dart to the bathroom, locking yourself in, and you dry heave over the toilet. You don’t actually end up throwing up, but you salivate way more than necessary and, once you’re sure you won’t vomit, put your head between your knees to quell the nausea and dizziness.

Dave, from an area you assume is this kitchen, says, “You guys just... stay. I’ll fetch him.”

You crawl to the door and put your back up against it to keep him out. He tries the knob, and grunts when he tries to shove it open. You brace it shut with your feet against the counter. “Bro,” you whine.

“I know, kid,” Dave murmurs through the door. “But these are your friends. Now man up and get out here, or you’re going to regret it.”

You know he means that you’ll be disappointed in yourself later if you don’t take this chance now, but all you hear is a physical threat. You _know_ that for once, it isn’t what he means. But it gets you on your feet and backing away from the door as he swiftly picks the lock and opens it. 

Dave’s face isn’t like it used to be. It’s sad and tired and maybe a little... older than it used to be. But it’s still Dave. You stiffly pass him into the hall, and you think he notices by the way he sighs quietly behind you. Maybe he’s guessed what you were thinking.

You hesitate significantly before you turn into the kitchen. Your three lifelines are on the other side of that doorway. Three people you once thought you could never live without, who you thought could never live without you. Three people who you grew up with, apart but always constant. People who you saw once or twice a year, maximum, and almost never all at once. People who became thirds of your heart.

Nerving yourself by biting your cheek, you slowly step into the kitchen.

And yep, there they are. Roxy, resplendent and classy with a mickey of rum in her hand, complimented by her snazzy gray dress with scarf, bag and belt ensemble. Jane, with her adorable smile, peeking up at you through her lashes as she (as always) bashfully studies her toes. And, fuck you for everything in the world, Jake. Jake English standing tall, broad and tanned in your kitchen, filling up the space with his absurd amount of muscles that pales the room in comparison. He’s so... bright. He illuminates the world around him with his excited atmosphere alone. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen him in the flesh. Too damn long and not long enough. You swallow hard.

They all grin at you at once, as if on cue, and the first thing Jake says is, “Blimey, Strider. You’ve gotten tall, haven’t you?”

You shudder out a laugh before you can stop it, and then the three of them are rushing forward to envelop you in possibly the best group hug you’ve ever experienced. Roxy’s got you right around the middle, Jane hugging around the both of you, and Jake swallows you all in his bear arms, his lips right by your ear. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, hiding your face in Roxy’s neck as your eyes water. “Just... fuck. Hi.” You feel more than see Dave and Equius leaving the apartment, and the soft click of the front door shutting is a dead giveaway.

Jane’s stroking your hair gently, a soothing ministration on the back of your head that calms you enough to sniffle, rather than cry. Roxy’s smell of flowery perfume is all around you, and you recognize it instantly. Memories and nostalgia hit you, and it’s like old times. Nothing’s changed.

Jake is so warm you can feel yourself sweating underneath your clothes wherever he touches you—or maybe that’s because of a different reason. You’re glad to report that you still skirt above him by a solid two inches. Growth spurts be damned, you won the vertical contest.

“Hey,” Roxy says, sighing. “Nice to finally be here. Couldn’t take much more of pesterclum. Chum.”

You draw back far enough to look at her. “Why?”

Roxy frowns at you. “You were hurting, Dirk. We all knew it. And we weren’t helping anything by being weenie assfaces.”

“Not in so many words,” Jane says with a strange glance at Roxy, “but yes. We’re sorry.”

Jake bonks his forehead to yours and your heart stops. “Sorry, chap. For everything.” His eyes are green, so goddamn green. Even through this pain in your chest, you don’t want to look away from him. 

You sigh unevenly. “Is this why you guys wouldn’t apologize on pesterchum? Because you wanted to do it in person?” When they’re uncomfortably silent, you laugh. “Wow, you guys are tools.” Jake’s eyes smile at you, and your pulse skips. 

Jane looks a little embarrassed, but Roxy is virtually unfazed, so she laughs too. Roxy wiggles, saying she’s hot and all these hotties need to let her cool off. You reach up to your face to brush your hair out of your eyes as they all detach themselves from you, and feel your hand hit Dave’s shades. You hadn’t realized you were still wearing them. You slowly curl your fingers around the stem and take them off. 

“Oh my,” Jane says almost immediately. Your self-consciousness skyrockets and you clench the shades hard as they all stare at you. They’ve never seen you without shades. 

Roxy shrieks, actually shrieks. “I thought I was the only one with wicked eye hues! Why didn’t you tell meee?”

You shrug. “Never came up.” You don’t look at Jake. You’re finding it hard to do that for too long, after all. “Sorry.” The one word carries more weight than you intended.

Jake hesitates, probably searching for words. “Ah, they suit you, mate,” is what he goes with. It’s not hurtful by any stretch, but you nod in his direction rather than looking at him. You figure looking at his boots is good enough.

“I, um,” you begin, a little embarrassed, “I wasn’t expecting company. My room and I are both kind of a mess.” You refrain from sniffing yourself. It won’t be a good result.

Jane smiles at you. “We’re willing to wait for you to tidy a bit.”

“Could I shower?” you ask hopefully.

“Long as you don’t take for friggin’ ever,” Roxy says. “We’ll be watchin’ TV, so don’t go bein’ butt naked over here!” She trots off to the living room, leaving Jane and Jake to follow after her with smiles in your direction.

You abscond to the bathroom, stripping quickly and hopping into the hot spray. You suds yourself and wash your hair, and although it’s one of your shorter showers, you still take a little extra time afterwards to put on deodorant, cologne, and shave your stubble off.

You look significantly less tired when you see yourself in the mirror, and although there’s a sad tilt to your brow that may be permanent due to your months of moping, a few face-quirking minutes later and your face feels... looser. You hadn’t realized there was tension there until it was gone.

Creeping into your room, you shove all your dirty clothes in the hamper behind your door and assemble your robot shit and various random items into a pile of junk that you shove into another corner and drape a sheet over. Cleaning complete, hell yeah. 

You rifle through your drawers and closet to find some semblance of “nice” clothes, eventually settling on your best pair of jeans and a Game Bro T-shirt. Jane’s laughter carries from the living room, echoed by Roxy and Jake’s. You feel a weird wibbly-wobbly feeling in your stomach before you push through it and go to find them in front of the TV, watching The Wedding Crashers.

They don’t hear you approach, and Jake carries on with what he’s saying, “And just watch right here, right away he’s going to...!” All three of them burst into raucous laughter when Vince Vaughn is shot in the ass with birdshot. “I bloody told you, look at that!” Whatever comments are made can’t be further discerned from the laughter bubbling from their faces, so you just stand there and try not to fall in love with your best friends all over again.

Eventually Jane notices you, when she turns her head to wipe her leaking eyes with her sleeve. “Oh, christ! Dirk, you gave me a fright!” she squeaks. Roxy and Jake turn to you with similar helpless expressions of mirth.

You smile at them, coming to take a seat (the only available one being next to Jake if you exclude the futon). “Not gonna lie, this movie is pretty golden.”

“We can watch something else if you want,” Jake begins, but you shrug.

“It’s cool, you guys pick something. You’re the guests.”

You all end up watching the rest of The Wedding Crashers, as well as watching your way through Tropic Thunder and Team America: World Police with next to no stops except for intermittent bathroom breaks and snack runs. You think that they pick these movies on purpose, to make you laugh and keep everything light. They’ve probably talked the topic to death, to try and not make you sink back into depression, but honestly? You don’t see it happening now. Their presence alone is like a huge balm on your gaping wounds. They were exactly what you needed, and more. Even Jake is manageable. 

Except every time you sit back down, or shift in your seat, he brushes against you. You purposely try to completely avoid touching him, but it’s like he leans into it, makes it happen. By the end of Team America, your nerves are getting frazzled and when Roxy hops up to top off her vodka martini you leap into her seat. Okay, you get up and sit back down in her seat. No need for dramatics.

She makes a scandalized noise when she sees you in her spot, in the armchair as opposed to on the couch on Jake’s left. “Sorry, Rox,” you say, “the prince needs his throne.”

Everyone knows why you moved, but no one says anything. It’s Jane’s pick of movie, and she’s crouched up in front of the enormous movie shelves while you’re calling out for pizza and Jake is trying Roxy’s drink and making horrible faces even as he tries to down the liquor.

Right after you make the call—your pizza will arrive within an hour—you get a text from Dave.

From: Huge Asshole  
hey kid just letting you know that ill be holding up the fort in my other place tonight so dont worry your ass off or nothing. try and have fun 

You’re tempted to ignore him, or send a scathing don’t-patronize-me reply, but you do neither. 

To: Huge Asshole  
Yeah, yeah. The strange thing is, I don’t even need to try. They’re too good for me, too good to me. They’re just... good. And lay off the parental crap, we both know you’re not up to snuff.

From: Huge Asshole  
oh haha youre a regular fucking bill cunningham. but you got a damn good point so ill stop mommyin you where it aint wanted. 

You smile, because you remember when you used to joke like this, ages ago before he started “misunderstanding” you right at the beginning of your teenage years. The bits of irony or sarcasm inlaid with somewhat callous remarks, cushioned by the fact that you’re really both just blowing it out your ass. You got a lot of your humour from him, and it’s something that you treasure.

You remember how Mom and Dad often used to scold you for using such language or being so crass. But Dave would fistbump you and smirk behind their backs and tell you to just be sneakier about it and pick who you talked to. You did, though Mom usually caught you anyways. He ended up telling you a few weeks before the accident that Mom usually did. There was no getting around her, even for Dave.

You think he’s done, but there’s another text several minutes after the last one. You get it just as you’re sitting down to watch Sherlock Holmes. 

From: Huge Asshole  
dont sap up on me ok and dont start crying in front of your friends but i love you kid and i mean it. thats never changed so dont ever let me tell you otherwise again got it? 

You suppose it’s about time you changed his name in your phone.

To: Dave  
You bet your Mr T fetus I won’t. Sweet swag ass like mine doesn’t take kindly to being a doormat. 

There’s something missing from that as you send it, so you follow it up with another reply. You don’t cry, though you do feel a long-forgotten tenderness towards your brother. You don’t want to forgive him entirely, not yet. You’re not sure you ever can, but it’s something the two of you can work on. It’s something that you can do together.

To: Dave  
Thanks for coming back.

\---

By the end of the movie it’s well into nightfall, and the remnants of the pizza are littered about the coffee table. Roxy’s martini glass is lying empty on its side on the floor, a few inches from her limp hand. Her face is uncomfortably smushed into the arm of the couch, her butt pressed against English’s hip. Jane, on Jake’s other side, is curled towards him, crooked under his arm where he invited her as she shivered once during the movie. You offered to get her a blanket, but she didn’t want to be a bother. So instead, Jake and Jane cuddled on the couch and ripped your heart out anew each time you glanced at their picture-perfect image on the sofa.

Jane is asleep against his chest, her fingers curled delicately into the cloth of his shirt and her face gently lit by the blue screen of the television. You watch Jake looking drowsily down at her with this stupid smile on his face. Your heart rends in your chest. She’s so goddamn beautiful. You forgot how beautiful she and Roxy are. They’ve both grown into fine young women, become accustomed to their bodies and filled out nicely. Jane’s a little on the plump and dainty side (though not enough to class her as overweight) where Roxy’s slim and elegant. Even with her face smushed, Roxy is beautiful. Though, you depend on them a lot so you could be a bit biased.

You shut off the TV, jolting Jake to look up at you through the semi-darkness. The kitchen light is on, bathing you in a warm, shallow glow. Jake’s face is hidden in shadow.

“We ought to call it a night, English,” you say quietly. “Help me get the girls to the extra bedroom.” Jake nods at you and between the two of you, you manage to pick up a conked-out girl each without waking them from their stupors. You doubt Roxy would wake up for any less than a freight train coming through the kitchen, but you digress. 

Jake is almost overly tender as he extricates himself from Jane, and then picks her up in his arms like she weighs nothing. Roxy is, although taller than Jane, a few pounds lighter, and you’re having slight difficulty. Muscly manbeast monster.

You lead the way to the girls’ room, pushing the door open with your foot and laying them each on one side of the bed. You tuck them in, lug their bags (Jesus, Roxy, three bags? Really?) into the room and shut them inside.

And then it’s just you and Jake standing in the dark hallway. Awkward as fuck.

“I’ll show you where you can sleep,” you murmur, slipping past him—without touching—to go back into the living room. “You can sleep on the futon, in Bro’s room, which I am completely and utterly suggesting you do not do, or my room, and I can take the futon.”

Jake studies you in the dim light cast from the kitchen. “Sleeping on the futon seems like the best option,” he replies quietly. “I won’t maroon you from your own bed.”

“The futon’s damn comfortable, anyways,” you say with a nod. “I mean, I know when people think ‘futon’ they think of a piece of shit furniture fail with lumps and a thin mattress, but Dave paid out the ass for it so he could crash on it if he was ever too lazy to get to bed. So. It’s good.” You shut your mouth quickly, because you just rambled like an idiot and you’re not keen to do it again.

You back up slightly, taking a step towards the hall. “Anyways... Sleep good.”

“Ah, wait,” Jake whispers hurriedly. You pause and glance at him. His hair is sticking up stupidly on one side from how he passed out on the couch, and there’re a few red lines across his face from when his glasses pressed into it. He is ridiculously endearing right now. “Would you want to... stay up for a bit? I feel a little wired, to be honest, now that I’m up and about.”

You swallow the apprehension that worms into your throat. You think of all the reasons why you can’t handle this, why you shouldn’t be tempted to make an ass of yourself. Then you just think how it’s been way too damn long since you’ve seen him, so you nod towards your room and lead him there.

You move to your lamp at your desk and flick it on, casting crimson light everywhere thanks to the sweet red plastic screen you adhered around the bulb. You grimace when you realize that tinted lighting is usually a romantic thing, then clench your teeth when all you can think of is Jake’s nude body flushed with red light. You’re so goddamn done with your imagination.

Jake sits on your bed as you pull up a few robotic schematics that you’re working on, mostly the ones for AR’s design. You point out the variances from the original, explain to him a little sadly that you broke Autoresponder when you had a fit in your early days. He looks surprised but ultimately pleased. You smirk. He actually hated AR. You think that’s hilarious, so you chuckle.

You feel him move closer to you, stand behind you and look over your shoulder at the designs. You demonstrate using your fingers how the connections for his programming will interface with the inlays necessary to get x-ray and holographic hardware into the glasses. Jake looks like it’s all a little over his head, but he seems eager enough to listen. You think (hope) that he just wants to spend a bit of time one-on-one with you.

Your skin jumps off your bones when his hand rests on your shoulder as he points with his other hand and asks about the power supply, where does it go? You show him where, and explain the basic capacity for energy and type of battery, and he seems to understand that part well enough. His eyes are cast brown in the strange light, and his smile is too wide.

Jake’s hand tightens, and you ignore it. You ignore his signal until, half-way through asking him if he wants to hear any of your music from lately, he spins you in your chair to face him.

“Dirk,” he says sadly. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to hear my new stuff,” you tell him, because one day playing dumb is going to work. “Like, here, this one—” You move to turn around but he holds the chair fast.

His eyebrows are a little lower, more serious. He knows that you know what he means. Damn it. “Answer me, please, Dirk.”

“I’m trying to forget,” you reply, looking away from him. “It’s not easy, but it’s not as hard as I thought it would be, with you being here.” You laugh once, almost like a bark. “Not that it’s not still hard. Fuck, this is hard. But everyone acting normal is good. Except you. You’re not acting normal.” You glare at him, softly. Accusing but not hostile. “Is it because you can’t forgive yourself yet for what happened? I don’t know how many damn times I’ve got to tell you tha—”

Jake cuts you off with a hand over your mouth. “Would you hush your face, it isn’t like that,” he hisses, and your dry look must convince him that elaboration is necessary because he adds, “Alright, don’t get your knickers twisted but, I did mean it when I said that things might have changed.”

You shove his hands away and stand from your chair, so you can look him dead in the eye. “What, your feelings have changed? Jane doesn’t count, Jake. She’s irrelevant to my immediate problem.”

“What?” Jake balks. “No, stupid, I mean y—”

“You can’t possibly mean me,” you snap mutedly, mindful of the girls sleeping a few rooms way. “Because if you had any sort of conviction towards me, you wouldn’t be snuggling with Jane for hours on end on the sofa, looking at her with big, gooey eyes and then comparing it to touching my hand, my arm, whenever I came close enough to reach. Now would you?”

Jake pales. “Okay, I did... do those things, but just listen, alright?” he pleads. You’re not having it.

You flip your hand as if to dismiss him entirely. “She confessed to you, since the last time we talked, didn’t she? She finally got the courage to do it, probably after you and I fought. Don’t deny it, things are different,” you tell him. “You look at each other differently. You approach each other differently. She’s got hope in her face when she looks at you. Which means you didn’t outright turn her down like you did me.”

“I didn’t turn you down,” Jake argues. “I just didn’t understand at the time that you were serious!”

You sigh, hard. “And thinking I’m joking is a good indicator of a positive response? No, it’s not, don’t be dense. You knew and I knew what your answer was. And since you didn’t correct me immediately, that’s the one we’re sticking to.”

Jake growls at you through his teeth, a frustrated noise that you think he is privy to only when he’s talking to you. “Fine then, good night,” he snaps. He storms from the room, leaving your door open as he huffs his way to the futon.

You stand there for a few minutes, letting it all sink in. You move like a ghost to your door, close it gently, lock it out of habit and then unlock it, and then relock it. You unlock it again with a frustrated huff at yourself, crawl into bed after stripping to your boxers and undershirt before you can undo it. Roxy will probably want to divebomb you in the morning, once she’s had her morning pick-me-up swill. Jake will most likely be cooing sweet nothings to Jane by the time you’re up. Jane will jump at the opportunity.


	6. Mary-Jane Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little warning in this chapter (and the ones following) for marijuana use.   
> (I also forgot to tag it in the original tags, but I'll fix it.)  
> ((I am so fucking proud of the title for this chapter, you have no idea. See if you can figure it out after reading :D))
> 
> Rated G for Ghostbusters!

You sleep off and on until the wee hours of the morning, where you finally sink into restful sleep. You’re tense when you wake up, a remnant ache of clenching and hugging your pillow obnoxiously hard last night. You’re stressing out. Not good.

You get up before anyone else, too early. You’re tense and jittery and itching to have something sharp in your hand. You want to harm yourself, but you try to fight it, mostly because you know that with people around, and things locked until Dave or Equius come back, you can’t get anything sharp. You make do with digging your nails hard into your feet, so hard that they bleed. You claw at the skin, peel it off, wince and whine quietly at the pain, but relishing in it because it’s so much better than just an ache in your gut, your chest, your everything. 

You clean your wounds soon after, and feel like shit. One little problem and you drop a rung in your achievement ladder. And it’s not even a new problem. You scrub under your nails obsessively, until you know there’s no blood left and your fingertips are abraded and tender. You comb your hair, style it a bit, and put band-aids over the cuts in your feet. You wear your slippers to hide them. Plus, slippers are ironic as hell.

You watch bad morning TV at low volume and completely ignore Jake’s sleeping figure on the futon, keeping to the couch until Jane crawls up from the sleepy depths of the guest bedroom and immediately gravitates to the kitchen to fix coffee. She’s got a large bag with her, and she takes out several utensils, as well as a small coffeemaker and coffee grinds. She is damn prepared.

Jane fixes you both coffee and you sip it silently on the couch, Jake’s snores occasionally drowning out the television. Jane’s presence beside you is warm and welcome, but tainted because of her constant involvement with Jake, and ergo with you and your shit problems. She laughs quietly at the things that are funny, jumps at things that are surprising, and “ugh”s at things that are stupid on the Jerry Springer show. You concur with each one.

You slide close to her, pressing your arm to hers, and she looks up at you. Jane smiles, seems to know that words aren’t necessary, and rests her head on your shoulder. You want to apologize for being a huge pushy bastard, but if only she and Jake could jointly come to realize that they do in fact want and need each other, then you could start to move on. But with things vacillating like they are, nothing is going to get done. Shit-all. Nada. Fucking zip.

You don’t miss how she’s mostly watching Jake instead of the TV.

Jake eventually rouses on his own (you did not neglect to lower the volume for commercials, you maintain that it was entirely accidental) and notices Jane first. His broad smile is genuine and you feel her perk beside you. Then he sees you and his look sours. Jane notices, and glances between the two of you until you get up and leave the room. You figure they’ve got shit to talk about.

You walk into the guest bedroom with a mickey in one hand and a whole lot of self-pity in the other. You crawl into bed with Roxy and shift up to her, snuggling to her side. She still smells so fucking great, and you nose into her hair to keep smelling it.

She slaps you a few times in her sleep, but you don’t mind. She’s always been kind of rambunctious when sleeping. You credit it to her always falling asleep drunk. Eventually she comes to when she goes to roll and you’re very much in the way, ending up flattened on you with a mess of blankets and a dazed look on her face.

“Dirk?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes.

“To be clear, you’re not dreaming, so don’t you dare start fondling me,” you muse, handing her the mickey without prompt.

Roxy positively gleams at you as you hand her the booze, untwists the cap with a flourish and takes a big swig. You’re not past worrying about her health, but you are past badgering her about it. She’s smart. She knows limits, at least her own, and only usually gets a steady buzz unless she’s upset, in which case you usually end up getting drunk with her to quell whatever pain she’s in and to gossip like bitches about nothing to feel better.

“Psh,” she says after she swallows, “if I was dreaming Janey would still be here. As well as at least three male wizards comparable to Robert Downey Jr. in looks and bod.”

You burst out laughing, and she smiles wickedly. She offers you the mickey, and with a shrug you accept it and partake in a large sip. You almost spit the acid back out, but manage to swallow it down. It burns like a fucker. 

“’Spose we could do the drunk thing,” you wheeze, your eyes watering. “Considering I have a minorly huge shitbox of crap that I created for myself last night.”

Roxy perks entirely more than necessary. “What happened?” Urgh.

You explain the conversation you had the night before with Jake, and the resulting reaction from this morning. Her face gets more and more sour as you continue, and she barely drinks in order to cast you scathing looks of disdain when necessary. 

When you finish, the first thing she does is sigh hugely. “Wow, for a genius you’re still pretty stupid.”

You throw your hands up, slumping back onto the pillows. “I’m done with this horseshit, what did I do _now_?”

“Jake’s not lying when he says he changed his feelings for you,” she tells you, and you scoff.

“He’s fed you that trope too, has he?” you grumble. “I’ll say it now and I’ll say it again, Jane’s the one he loves and if they would just look at each other they could see that.”

Roxy smacks your face, hard enough to leave you smarting, but soft enough to not leave a big mark. You yelp at her indignantly. “He’s not lying, you stupid fucknut,” she snaps at you, apparently done with your melodramatic bull. “He’s changed. Jake’s the one who wanted to come see you, dumbass. He’s the one who got a hold of your bro and straightened out the truth by talking to him and realizing you weren’t lying about anything. Jake’s the one that asked your bro to bring us all here. Stupid.”

“Jane confessed when you guys were together, didn’t she,” you murmur, staring at the ceiling. “Before you got here.”

Now Roxy looks uneasy, because you’re right. “She... did something along the line of exactly that,” she replies after a tense minute. “But far as I know, he hasn’t given her an answer and she’s not asking for one yet. I guess she just wanted to tell him before...”

You close your eyes on a heavy sigh. “Before she thought he’d come here to passionately confess his undying love for me. Yeah, that’s not happening. They’re probably getting together as we speak.”

Roxy looks at you. “What d’you mean?”

“My closing argument last night was that Jake should essentially stop trying to pacify me and go get Jane like they both want. Or something close to that.” You shrug and Roxy smacks you again. “Ow, what?”

She sighs at you, as if she can’t believe how utterly brain dead you are. “Wow, you’re just. Wow. Your geniusness is hereby revoked on account of you’re a seriously inbred species of retarded.”

You sit up and glare back at her from her lounge position on the pillows. “Fine. You want to come at this like I’m retarded? Great. Now tell me how I can get rid of all that inbreeding because that clueless idiot tells me one thing because I went crazy, when we all know he’s the most accommodating doofus out there, and he’d do anything, including making himself unbearably unhappy, just to be with me to keep me safe from myself?” You huff out a breath angrily, shuffling off the bed. “No, I’m not the fucking crazy one here. It’s everyone else telling me to ignore years of anecdotal proof that he’s never once come onto me, tested those waters, or even acknowledged those goddamn waters because to him, they didn’t exist! And it’s literally the same thing with Bro. So don’t get me goddamn started that _I don’t know what I’m talking about._ ” 

Roxy’s face is shocked, to say the least. You look away, sit on the edge of the bed and try not to feel like the biggest fucking loser in the world when you hunch over and clench your eyes shut.

Sounds of movement make you glance up, and you freeze like a deer in the headlights. Jake and Jane are hovering in the doorway with similar looks of shock. You resist the unfathomable urge to laugh. Nothing’s really funny, but it’s better than crying. 

You feel Roxy scoot to you across the bed, and she drapes herself over your back in a hug, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breath ghosts over your neck, making you shiver. You watch the gooseflesh rise on your legs and don’t say anything. You stare at the floor between your bare feet.

“Anyone else have their two cents to put in?” you mutter, loud enough for everyone to hear you.

Jane hurries forward, sitting beside you on the bed and threading her fingers through yours. “I like the colour of your hair,” she tells you. “Webcam doesn’t do it justice.”

You look at her, and when you see Jane’s frisky smile, you smother a chuckle. It still bubbles out, and she bumps shoulders with you. “There he is,” Roxy says, patting your chest.

“I like how you use your accent more when you get angry,” Roxy adds. “It’s super hot.” Jane squeals with laughter.

“Oh, oh, your fingers! They’re so nimble, like pianist fingers.” Jane wiggles your joined hands in front of your face for emphasis. 

Roxy slumps off your back to lie beside you and look up at you and Jane. “There’s this thing he can do with his tongue, he like curls it and wiggles it and, he showed me once and I almost died—” You smack her thigh and both girls shriek with laughter.

“You don’t get mad at me when I’m an awful git to you,” Jake inserts from the doorway, and you look up at him. You smile a little warily at his tense posture, and stand from the bed. As you approach him, Jane stops you with a tug on your hand.

“Dirk, what’s happened to your feet?” she asks you, pointing at the bandages slightly coloured by the blood seeping underneath.

You look down with dread in your chest. “Oh,” you say numbly. “Nothing. I just bumped into my des—”

“Dirk,” Roxy says mournfully, and you clench your hands. Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Were those there yesterday?” Jake asks quickly. By the look on your face, he must get his answer, because he sinks his fist through the drywall next to the door with a shouted curse. You just stare at him. 

He spins on you accusingly. “Fucking dammit, Strider. How could you?”

Jane walks to Jake, patting his arm and soothing him enough to lower it. “Now isn’t the time to yell at him,” she tells him quietly.

“When is it?” he barks at her. “Tell me so I can clear my blasted schedule to make room for all the things I’d like to shout in his stupid fucking face!” Jane recoils at his anger, and the instant regret on his face spurs you when nothing else would.

You glare coldly at him. “I’m right here, bro. Shout away. Let’s get a fucking domestic disturbance going on in here. Now or never.” That’s not really true; there will be plenty of other times to yell at you, but maybe none so satisfying as this one.

Jake stalks to you and gets himself right in your face. Your heart would be pounding if not for the unbidden rage in his eyes.

“You.” His upper lip is stiff as his mouth curls with the one word. It’s laced with disgust you hadn’t known was possible from Jake. It’s not a side of him that you’ve seen before. He is completely livid. “You crow on and on about how no one understand you or seems to listen, and how no one has gotten to know you like we do, but even then we’re subpar because we’re always so damn far away and maybe we don’t listen that well. But you don’t listen either! You make an opinion about something and then that’s it, it’s set in stone and adventurers be damned if they try to up and fix the opinion by having a change of heart. But no, it is always about you isn’t it? It’s the Dirk Fucking Strider show, starring the hugest dick in the universe, Dirk Strider!” Jake pokes you hard in the chest. “Fuck you. Other people have feelings too. Other people with less problems, smaller problems, sure, but they’ve got their own and they could relate to yours, they may want to solve yours, or maybe they just want to be your friend and help you bloody forget. But you won’t have any of that. No. Because then it’s not about you, and you’re not broken anymore and not getting the attention from your brother and your real friends and the whole world. So _fuck you!_ ”

Jake actually shouts the last words in your face, and you’re slightly distracted by the spittle that flies from his mouth. As soon as he finishes his say, his whole body just sort of sags, as if it was kept up by all that energy and stress. His face relaxes, though is it by no means still not furious. And it was all right at you.

There’s really nothing to say, because everything he said was right. You got drunk on the attention you were given after everything started, watched all the time, people worrying about your well-being because it was actually in danger. Your hurt was amplified now, and it wasn’t under radar anymore; it was open to see and there were people there to specifically take care of you. And your friends doted on you, even though they said hurtful things and you got in more fights with them. It didn’t matter. It meant they cared.

You rub the side of your neck, a deceptively casual gesture compared to the roiling mass inside of you. You just... don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything. You move past English, taking extreme care not to touch any goddamn part of him, and go to your room. You grab your cellphone and a pair of jeans, tug them on, and exit your room again just as Jane, Roxy and Jake are filing out of the guest bedroom. You make your way to the door, slipping your feet into shoes and barely wincing when the motion rubs against your cuts. You snatch a pair of keys, to the Coupe, off the wall hang by the front door and, walking back to the kitchen, take your wallet from where it sits on the kitchen table. You extricate a credit card, one of many, and leave it on the table.

“Use this if you need food or want to go anywhere,” you say quietly. “Everything’s locked bec—” You swallow, grabbing your pair of shades where they also sit on the table, and slip them onto your nose. You feel better with at least one shield between you and the mix of expressions facing you. “...There’s no food to really get at here. Take a cab or drive if you wanna go out to eat. The, um... the keys are by the door. Just handle the cars nice. I’ll be back by tomorrow at the latest.”

You turn away and try to quickly abscond to the door, but Roxy’s hand is around your wrist, her expression pleading. “Dirk, we came here for you, don’t do this.”

You look at her, look past her to Jane’s horrified expression. Jake’s face is almost blank but it’s calculating, as if he’s still coming up to speed that you’re leaving and you may not come back in one piece.

“Dirk,” Roxy pleads, and you look at her beautiful eyes, in pain.

“Don’t worry,” you say, cupping her face. She’s not the one you want to be worried about you; she’s not the one you want to comfort, to assure that you’ll come back to her. But she’s your best friend, and she’s nothing if not wonderful. “I’ll be back, I promise. I’m just going to see Equius.”

It’s a lie, but only Roxy seems to know it. She knows you so well. She tenses visibly where you see Jane relax. Jake’s slowly cottoning on that you’re actually leaving, perhaps winded from his rant and a little tired from jetlag. You need to be gone before he catches up. He could stop you.

“Please be careful,” Jane implores. You nod, smile for the camera, and then you’re pulling Roxy’s hand off you and you’re gone. You shut the door and you’re disappearing in the elevator when you hear Jake finally holler, “DIRK!”

\---

The drive calms you, more than you thought it would, but then again you used to love driving and the freedom it gave you. It was, as soon as you hit sixteen, a way to get out of the house for a while, go spend boatloads of cash that wasn’t yours on stuff you didn’t need, and feel better. It was a way to remember your parents, because they always loved driving places. Out to the country, to the downtown market, anywhere. They taught you how to drive stick-shift at age ten, which helps now as you make your baby purr beneath you. European car makers had their shit right. They knew what was fucking what.

You go into the lesser parts of the city, searching for what you need. You end up finding one, a man huddled against an old brick building in a dead business district, behind a trash can. As you approach him he takes one look at you and starts running.

“Ah, hey!” you shout, and he pauses. “I just wanna buy some shit. C’mon, man, my dealer’s out of town and my parents are gonna grill my ass if they find out where I took their car. Help me out, dude.” You make your face pleading, standard rich and spoiled teenager act. He’ll triple-price you because of it, but not like it’s your money anyways.

The man, scruffy in a thin, holed trench coat the colour of unhealthy moss, approaches you slowly. “How old’re ya?”

“Eighteen,” you tell him, and he narrows his eyes. “I ain’t gonna squeal. Listen, I’ll give you all the cash I got on me for however much pot you can give me.”

He scoffs and laughs at you, a wheezing chortle that makes you grimace. “What, ya only want that rinky-dink shit? How ‘bout I get ya some hard shit, good shit. Whaddaya say?”

You shake your head. “Just weed. As much as you have. All of it.” God you hate this part of town and every person in it. Shady as fuck, and a damn shame that you know exactly how to work everybody in it.

He grumbles, missing out on no doubt a big sell, but motions for you to stay here and wait while he gets his stuff from his supplier. He estimates at two hours.

You sit in your car, locked and parked, cool as a fucking cucumber. Your shades and your false aloof demeanor repel anyone that comes too close to your car. You grab your extra cell phone charger that you keep in this car (your car, in case it wasn’t screamingly obvious) in the glove compartment, and plug in your phone. Already three missed calls. All Roxy.

It won’t be long before she calls Dave and tells him what you’ve done. Then he’ll be going apeshit and calling you too. You sigh, pressing the recall button on the screen and lifting it to your ear.

It rings once before she picks up. “Dick Jesus Christ off my gourd I’m so slorry, I’m such a horrible fland, I let you go. How clue...clod...cloud...could I do that?” Roxy’s voice is very drunk and very desperate in your ear. You sigh and speak as calmly as possible.

“Roxy,” you soothe, “it’s okay. It’s oookay. Breathe with me, okay? In, out,” you say, and you hear her breathily repeat it.

“Haha, wow that’s dirty,” she snorts. “In, out, in-out, innie, outtie, ollie outtie, raspberry!” she shrieks in your ear with laughter, and you wince. She is plastered. 

“Roxy? Listen, okay? I’m perfectly fine,” you tell her, keeping your voice even. “I’m just getting myself a pick-me-up, okay? Like when you drink. But it’s not the really bad stuff, like you think, okay? So just stay calm, and I’ll be home soon. Is Jane there?”

“Janeeeeeeey,” Roxy croons somewhere away from her phone. “Dicks want to talk to you about in and out!” You rub the bridge of your nose tiredly.

There’s a small commotion, and then Jane’s on the line with a very confused, “Hello?”

“Hey, Jane,” you say gently. 

She audibly gasps. “Dirk! Christ, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m still in the city, in a less favourable neighbourhood,” you say dryly, as a couple of hookers walk by the car tapping on the glass and calling obscenely at you to take a ride with them. You think one of them is a male. Or was.

“What are you doing there?” Jane asks, curiosity and worry evident.

“Getting myself a treat,” you muse.

Jane gasps again. “Oh my lord, Dirk, please tell me you’re not having sex with prostitutes, that is so unhealthy.” You can practically hear her nose wrinkling.

You laugh. “God, no. Not in this neighbourhood. Sketchy drug dealers here, mostly.”

“Fuck sakes,” Jane huffs. “So you’re getting drugs?”

“Weed,” you say, and it takes her a long time to respond. Too long. Non-existent amounts of time. “You can check me for goddamn track marks when I get back, if you fucking want,” you snap. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she murmurs. “It’s just... You were in a state when you left, I can hardly think pot’s going to be enough.”

You smile. “The drive helped loads. Don’t you worry about it, I feel better already.” It’s nice to not actually have to lie when you say that. “But this will certainly help things along even more.”

Jane makes a disapproving noise, but relents. “As long as you’re safe. Get out of that neighbourhood before you smoke any,” she scolds. “God knows who’s out there.”

“Okay,” you agree, because you will not stay here any longer than necessary, that’s for damn sure. “How’re you guys doing?” you murmur.

“Well,” Jane sighs, “as you can tell Roxy drank herself stupid in the span of half an hour, thinking that you’d gone off to drive yourself into some ravine. Kept ranting about that sort of thing. I suspected the same thing, too, but you looked okay even if you didn’t sound it, and...” There’s a pause. “I don’t know, I guess I just trust you to not throw everything away.”

Your chest blooms with warmth. “Thank you,” you say, and you mean it.

Jane huffs, and continues, “And Jake has disappeared into your room and I really have no idea what he’s doing in there, I told him not to go through your things but I think he’s looking for clues on where to find you. Like you’d keep them in plain sight, but anyways. Keeps him busy.”

You laugh. “Well, that at least sounds like him. Is he mad at all?”

“He was absolutely livid as soon as you left, screaming this and that about selfish bastards and doing whatever you want and more about the biggest dick in the universe. He winded down after that, and went to your room. He’s quiet at least. Probably stewing, or moping on his outburst.”

You snort. “He doesn’t have to do either, and you tell him I said that when we’re done talking,” you say firmly. “And so help me god if he apologizes to me any more for this thing that I’m bringing on myself, that he can’t help, ‘m going to—” You stop yourself, taking a few measured breaths. “Just, tell him I’m not mad, not upset, not anything with him. And also tell him he was completely right.”

Jane’s silent, probably shocked at your admission, but she says, “Okay. I’ll tell him. You’re sure you don’t want to talk to him?”

“God, no,” you laugh. “It would just... no. Later, maybe. I think I’ll make it back tonight anyways. Call Dave and tell him that I’m out so if he drops by he doesn’t blow up on you guys.”

Jane sighs through the receiver, and you can almost feel her soft breath on your face. “Well, call me when you stop next. I mean it.” Her voice is stern and adorable. You agree, and hang up.

You wait out your drug deal by playing games on your phone. Boredom is creeping up surely on you, just as the scraggly guy knocks on your window and motions for you to get out. You do, locking the car behind you. He draws you into the alley, shows you the wonderfully full baggy of weed.

“Four hundred,” he says confidently, and you smirk because he up-priced it like a mad cunt. You shell over the cash, your wallet still pleasantly thick (Dave thinks you need enough money to confirm godhood at any time of the day, it’s actually pretty goddamn ridiculous). The guy eyes your wallet and snaps, “Thought ya said the whole thing.”

You smirk wider. “You’re the one that assumed I had little over four hundred. Don’t state prices if you’re offered a wallet’s worth, buck.” You snatch the baggy from him lightning-fast without another word, sauntering back to your car. He spits insults at you, and throws a brick at your head but you sidestep it and give him a pleasant wave. You slip into your car, bring her to life, and take her out of the slums.

You maneuver onto the freeway, tripping a few speed laws. The speed of the car was enough to wet your jimmies, but weaving in and out of slower cars in the three lanes was the icing on your jimmy cake. Mmmm.

On the way out, you stop at a grocery store and pick up a pre-made sandwich and some junk food. Then you make a run at a convenient store and buy some rolling papers and a lighter. You make it back to the highway by 1 o’clock, and you’re out of the city and on a dirt road to your family’s plot of land by 2:30.

The landscape is basically unchanged. You still have people come to mow the lawn and keep up the yard work, but aside from that it’s just a gated property with an empty house. You use the key card in your wallet to open the gate, which closes automatically behind you, and drive up to the back lawn. There, retracted from the house and hidden behind a stone wall that doubles as a fountain, is your parents’ graves.

You grab your groceries, your weed, and your accessories before shutting and locking the car. You sit on the grass right in front of the headstone, lay out your food, and roll a skinny joint. You light up as you watch the afternoon sunlight filter through the trees to scatter across the lawn. There’s a very small crab apple tree at the head of your parents’ grave, barely old enough to produce fruit. It’s your mother’s favourite fruit, for some reason. Dad had no arguments about that particularly strange request for their grave plot, though in the will he did make fun of her for it.

You stop smoking when the joint’s about half blazed, so you snub it out and stick it back in the bag. Then, because munchies were anticipated, you snarf down the food you brought. You don’t say anything to your parents, and you don’t expect any kind of spiritual guidance from them. You know that, if ghosts and shit exist, then your parents are long gone. They thought Dave would have you under wraps, and you guess he did for a while. It just wasn’t an ongoing project.

Your head buzzes pleasantly as you lie on their grave, humming some song you’re not sure you know, and hearing the music in your head anyways. You pull out your phone and call Jane’s cell, and she picks up within three rings.

“Hey, Dirk,” she greets, and by the sudden commotion on her end Roxy probably overheard her. Or Jake.

“Hi,” you say. Your voice sounds weird, hollow and ringy. You yawn and pop your ears. “’Sup?”

“Aside from these two having conniptions next to me, nothing unusual,” she quips. “We’re raiding your movies again, hope you don’t mind.”

You laugh, long and low. “Not a problem. Knock yourselves out.”

There’s idle silence, and then Roxy barks right in your ear, “Dirk are you hokay?” She adds a heavy H sound to the word, making it almost sound like a stutter if she’d dragged it any longer.

“’M Fine,” you say serenely. “A bit high. Nothing hurts right now. Visiting my parents.”

“Oh,” Roxy says. She seems surprised that you’re not off your nut and losing your mind somewhere. She’s surprised that you’re dealing with this constructively, if a little creatively. That would’ve once made you sad, but now it’s funny, because right now you don’t feel like the big mess you are. You chuckle.

“How‘re they doin’?” she asks you gently, like it’s a secret. 

You smile. “They’re good. I think they might be rolling around down there since I’m toking up right above them, but I don’t see any angry spirits so I think we’re clear.”

Roxy laughs. “Prob’ly,” she muses. “So you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” you tell her. “I guess too many people all at once is just too much after a lot of solitude. I’m sorry I skipped out on you guys. I scared you pretty bad, huh?”

“Fuck yes you did,” Roxy huffs indignantly. “Had me shipping my pants thinking you were going on a suicide bender. Shitting.”

“When I left, I thought I could be too,” you tell her. “But then I started driving and I thought about my parents and everything didn’t seem so bad. Doesn’t seem worth it to pull a tantrum that big.”

She laughs again. “Damn ripe!”

You sit in comfortable silence, watching a cloud, and Roxy asks you, “You okay to talk to Jake? I think he wants to talk to you, if the jig he’s doin’ is any indification. Indication.”

“Uh, sure,” you tell her, and listen to the phone being handed off.

“Strider!” Jake comes on the line and he sounds pissed, but he sounds more scared out of his mind than anything. “Bollucks, tell me you’re okay, mate.”

“I’m fine,” you soothe him. “It’s cool, Jake, I just went for a drive. And guess what I got?” You sing the last word tantalizingly, piquing his interest.

“Erm, what?” he asks.

“Remember how you and I talked last year about, next time you came over, I would get some pot and you’d smoke it with me? You said you wanted to try when I told you I smoked?”

“Yes,” Jake says slowly, apprehensively. “Do... did you get some? Are you high right now?” Jake whispers incredulously. You hear Jane and Roxy laughing at him in the background

“Oh fuck yeah,” you murmur, purring the words out and Jake chuckles nervously. “And you know what else?”

“What?” Jake whispers again.

“I’m super fucking mellow when I’m high, so if we talk about shit then I won’t get irrational and pissed at you,” you tell him. You lie back in the grass and let a gentle breeze take your body. Just take you now, oh god. “This shit is wonderful. Ahhhhhh.”

“Dirk, you’re sure you’re okay?” he asks worriedly.

You nod before remembering he can’t see you. “Yup yup.” You squirm on the grass, your body smothered with those tickling tingle sensations. 

Jake clears his throat. “Ha, well if you’re sure, chap.”

“I’m so sure,” you murmur to him, and you feel like you might be using a lower, sexier voice on purpose. But everything is currently wonderful and you’re gonna push your luck, yes you are. “Are you excited for when I get home?”

“Um, excited enough,” he replies dodgily. “Pretty excited, I guess. New things are fun, right?”

You smile widely. “Really fun,” you insist. “Especially with two people. Who like each other.”

Jake makes some indiscernible noises on the other end. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing anymore,” he says quickly. “Here, talk to Jane!”

Jane comes back on the line, more amused than you’ve ever heard her. “I think I would pay money to know what you two were just talking about.”

You smirk. “I bet you would. Ask me when I’m sober, or when we’re both high.”

She laughs, unbidden and more than likely directed mostly at Jake as he freaks out. “You’ll be home soon?” she asks you.

“Within a few hours,” you reply. “See you then.”

“Bye,” she says, and hangs up.

You lie there for a while longer, waiting until the best cloud ever floats out of sight. You get to your feet, gather the remains of your food and weed paraphernalia, and stow it all back in the car. Then you take your keys and—with a bit of difficulty—unlock the front door to your old house.

Inside, it’s exactly how you remember it. All the furniture’s been put into storage, but the layout hasn’t changed. The window where you cut your hand is still there. There are still scratches in the floor where Dave threw a sword at you during a strife and lodged it in the hardwood instead. You walk upstairs to your old room and sure enough, there’s still a few of your things up here. An old puppet you got for Christmas from a relative who you hated. The makings of one of your earliest robotic creations, in pieces and rusted by now, but then it was your pride and joy.

Making your way up the hall, you venture into Dave’s old room. Quite a bit of his stuff is here too, but packed up in boxes. You delve into one to find his early SBAHJ comics. These are actually truly shitty, no irony or faked awfulness in these. These are bona fide ten-year-old’s drawings, and they suck dick. You laugh at one where Jeff keeps buying the same bagel every day and then eats it and has a bad day because he can’t stop thinking about how fucking awful that bagel was.

Opening another box and rifling through it rewards you with a trinket of his that you remember well. It was a ring of your dad’s, supposedly given to him by his father, and his father’s father before that, who won it from a Turkish priest in a game of Bullshit (or the Turkish equivalent) in a Chicago airport during a layover. You think that may possibly be the best story in your lineage ever. Anyways, the ring has this really intricate design on the sides, notches interlacing circles that look like tiny gears fitting together. It looks so real, half the time you think if you try to turn one, they’ll all move. You pocket the ring and repack the stuff.

You run a few laps around the house to burn off some of your energy, and then lay awkwardly in the Coupe until your breathing slows. You feel the high disappearing, though slowly. You shouldn’t have smoked so much, because now you have to wait for fucking ever for your high to go away so you can drive home.  
Meh. You’re not feeling particularly cautious. Also fast things are fun.

You sit properly in the seat, checking that you have everything in the car, and then remember you didn’t lock the house. You get out and lock the door, make sure you didn’t leave anything open, and get back in the Coupe. Okay. Now you’re ready.

You buckle up (drive safely) and test out your motor skills by doing a few laps around the driveway. You should be good, if the little shake in your hands is the worst of your problems. You pull out onto the gravel road after opening the gate, assure that it shuts behind you, then go on your merry way back home. 

The drive takes longer to get back than it did to come there, since you’re not speeding now. You won’t push your luck that much. You go the speed limit, and when that feels a little hairy, you go five miles per hour under. That, and you may keep getting distracted by awesome clouds and end up doing half the speed limit.

You’re immensely grateful when you finally get the Coupe parked in the parking garage. Whew. You grab your stuff, shove it all in the grocery bag, stuff that bag in the convenient store bag, then hasten your ass up to your condo on the top floor.

You come in through the front door a little unsteadily, huffing out a snort when your foot hits the door and laughing a bit under your breath. Jane, hovering in the kitchen with an armada of kitchen appliances that you do not recognize, hurries over to you and helps you upright. You smile down at her.

“I drove home and I’m not sober, and I even went under the speed limit,” you tell her proudly. 

“Dirk,” she scolds, but her face splits into a grin anyways as she sits you on the couch next to sleeping Jake English.

“We ordered more pizza. Should be here soon,” Roxy says from the arm chair, bowl of popcorn perched in her crossed legs. 

You grin at Jake, his head at the other end of the couch. “So, Jake is down to smoke. How about you guys?”

Jane idly fidgets with the hem on her shirt. “I guess if we don’t go anywhere, it’ll be fine,” she reasons.

“I’m so diddly-down,” Roxy says, sipping her cola-something from a coffee mug. “I’m so down the drug ain’t gonna know which way it up. We’re gonna have to give him directions, and a map.”

You smirk, extricating the baggy holding the wonderful green goods and start rolling up two joints. Your hands are a bit unsteady, and your random thought tangents don’t help, but soon you’ve got two mediocre joints that will be more than sufficient for the four of you.

The pizza arrives, and you sit cool as a cucumber on the couch while Jane politely pays for it, and Roxy asks the pizza guy if he’s one of those pizza porno guys and if he’s DTF. You burst out laughing, and the kid leaves with a red face and a large tip. Jane puts the pizzas in the kitchen for later.

You show Roxy and Jane how to hold a joint, and tell them the basics: don’t inhale too hard, don’t hold for too long, and don’t set your thumb on fire. You help them out for their first hits, holding the lighter for them while they inhale. Roxy takes it like a champ, even holds it, but exhales too fast and starts coughing. She sips (chugs) her drink and passes to Jane. The joint’s already lit now, so you tell her that she just has to inhale. She does, feebly. You encourage her to not treat it like a toilet seat at McDonald’s. She inhales too fast the next time, and wastes most of the hit by coughing it out a big cloud of smoke. You smile, pulling off of it as you feel your buzz dwindling, and feeling pretty sweet and cool as you lounge with your two friends smoking pot.

Two... Nope, that shit ain’t right. There was another one, he... Fuck, Jake. Oops.

You scoot along the couch to sit by the dip of Jake’s waist and poke his shoulder. He grumbles. You shove him, and he groans. You shake him, and he blearily opens his eye to yawn at you. He must still have jetlag, you think distractedly. You wave the joint at him, grinning, and he sits up, looking excited but nervous and entirely too cute for you to handle right now.

You sit close to him, handing him the joint. “Alright, simple shit here, Jake, just hold that end in your lips.”

He does so, staring oddly at Roxy and Jane as they giggle and freak out over how blonde and spiky your hair is. You snort a little at the look on his face, but hold up the lighter and you bat his hand out of the way as he goes to hold the joint steady so you can light it. You hold it instead, lighting the end and murmuring, “Inhale deeply.” He obeys. His face is a little comical as he breathes in the strange smoke and he’s about to exhale, but you tell him to wait. He does. When you finally tell him he can let it go, he expunges it in a whoosh and a laugh, coughing and chuckling through the smoke. You hand him a glass of water, standing by for such hard hits, and grin.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you ask.

He shakes his head and grins back. “Not at all! I feel perfectly fine, though.”

“Give it a minute,” you muse. He does, and then it’s fucking hilarious.

Being the least baked of the four of you (after Roxy and Jake take another hit), you pick and start the movie. You figure Ghostbusters will be an adequate amount of fuckery. You pop in the DVD as Jake is leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a vacant expression. Walking becomes somewhat of an ordeal when you go to fetch the pizzas and some soda from the kitchen. You figure plates and cups are a bad idea and no one will use them anyways.

Plopping back down next to Jake, you press play for the DVD and everyone fucking loses their mind when the opening music starts playing. Jake starts doing some kind of fist pump dance move while sitting, Jane is shrieking that this movie is so wonderful, wow, ghosts and detective guys what could possibly be better. You go to state that they’re not really detectives, but you can’t be heard over Roxy blasting the volume and screaming along with the song. Instead of saying Ghostbusters though, she says one of your names.

You start to mellow out significantly, watching Jane and Roxy whisper together on the futon that oh my god, what if they were all Ghostbusters? Roxy keeps saying she wants to be Bill Murray, but then Jane wants to be Bill Murray, and they decide they can both be Bill Murray as long as they share his penis. You don’t think you’ve ever laughed harder in your life.

Jake is spacing out between the ceiling, which is somehow fascinating, the movie, the texture of the couch, and also suddenly your jeans-clad leg.

“D’you ever feel like you have Spider-Man’s hands?” he asks you, his eyes half-lidded. “Blimey, I feel like I can feel everything... see everything with just my hands, mate...” Jake leans forward and shoves his hands on the coffee table, obscenely patting and stroking the smooth wooden surface. “I think I knew this table when it was still a tree. Did I plant it? Where was it growing?” Jake suddenly looks at you and his expression of fear is a little worrying.

“Mate,” he says, “I think I’m really high.”

You try to smother your laughter but it bursts out anyways. “You’re feeling up the coffee table,” you tell him. “You’re high, all right.”

Jake’s mouth breaks into a big smile, and he slouches back into the couch laughing. “I feel wonderful,” he admits, “but extremely strange. Tingly all over and everything is funny when it’s got no right to be anywhere near funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” you insist, but you’re smiling too. You try to watch the movie, and you think Jake does too, but you’re both distracted by the girls being loud, shoving and shrieking while they try to watch the movie and fail horribly. You’re distracted by how you can feel his presence beside you, by the feeling of your own clothes on you, by how cold it is and how you’re wearing nothing but a wife-beater. You feel Jake glancing over at you constantly. You can’t tell if you want him to stop or not.

Shivering now for a few reasons, you snatch the blanket draped over the couch and swarm yourself with it. You feel better. Slightly. Except Jake slides closer to you and you can’t help but shift a bit closer, too. Damn it. This isn’t getting over anything.

Ghostbusters provides an ample distraction for you, but it doesn’t for Jake. He’s pressed up against your side now, and his hands fumble at the edge of your blanket. You’re not sure what he’s trying to do until he’s encased himself in the blanket with you, wrapping you both up snuggly like two little bugs in a damn rug. You feel yourself get exponentially warmer. Jake chuckles, because he notices.

“You alright, mate?” he murmurs, too close to your ear to warrant as anything but a damn tease. You want to believe him when he says he’s changed, he feels different. But he never said how it’s different, whether it still fell into a friend zone or a romantic thing, or some messed-up friends-with-benefits thing. You hate that you don’t care, as long as he wants you.

You sigh unevenly. “Jake, this isn’t...” you begin.

Jake frowns at you. “I don’t get you,” he says. “You confess your fancy for me, and I... reject you,” he seems to have difficulty saying the word, but he trudges on, “and you take time off to get over it all. When you come back and I say it’s a different matter entirely, you balk and run away whenever you can until I’m so damn flabbergasted with you that I come visit. What’s so hard to believe? I thought you wanted me to like you.” The pot probably isn’t helping anything with your thought processes, or his by the looks of it. Or how close he is, or how his hand is on your thigh and yours is on his. When did it get there?

“It’s...” You get distracted again, by his mouth. Everywhere on your body’s too tingly, you’re not defensive enough, Jake is too forward. Everything is wrong, but Jake licks his lips and that’s about all there is to say about it. “It’s a lot to take in, when I’ve convinced myself all this time that you not loving me was... was something I had to come to terms with.” Even now, you’re unsure that what he means and what you mean is the same thing.

Fingertips touch your cheek and you flinch instinctively. Jake hesitates, but pushes on and cups your face with both hands. “I’m serious,” Jake tells you. “Those months without you just weren’t the same. It even had me wishing that blasted AR would come online, just so I could fake talk to you.”

You try not to make a face, but you do. You know you do because Jake makes a face too. Missing you isn’t the same as loving you. It’s not the fucking same and Jake should damn-well know that. “What you’re feeling isn’t... It’s not the same,” you try to explain. “It’s nice that you missed me, but I didn’t just miss you. I wanted you. I needed you. I craved you.” You stop talking when his face gets a bit horrified. “Sorry. Forget I said that.” Your hands plant on his chest and push him away. “Just, watch the movie or something. Let’s stop talking about this.”

Jake opens his mouth to argue, but you don’t listen. You shove the blanket onto him and retreat to your side of the couch. You knew it was too good to be true. You knew it. He wasn’t capable of loving you. You’re just bros. And he missed you.

You ignore the painful tightening in your throat to watch a ghost get vacuum-owned by the Ghostbusters. You ended up getting excited for nothing, getting your hopes up when you knew better, and you knew Jake couldn’t mean it that way. Even though you warned him not to tell you because you suppose you knew you’d get led off somewhere by his misconstrued words, he told you, and here you are. The same goddamn place you were the last time this happened. Thankfully, you don’t feel like finding Dave’s razors this time. You just want to sleep and hope the entire problem dissolves into nothing, but you know it won’t. Jake, Jane, and Roxy will all be here in the morning. No matter how long you sleep, they’ll still be here.

The thought is as comforting as it is terrifying. You think weed may become your personal best friend until they leave. Probably after.

The rest of your evening is spent casting severely amused glances at Jane and Roxy as they alternatively space out, pass out, and tweak on random things like the fabric of their clothes or the television remote. Long after the movie’s finished, you all sit around and essentially do shit-all except laugh at things that aren’t funny and talk about things that don’t make sense. Sometimes you feel Jake’s fingers wandering over your leg, teasing you into consulting the problem, confronting him again. You ignore him unless you’re talking about topics unrelated to feelings, and maybe it’s the pot but he doesn’t stop his touching, the lilting reminders that he’s not going to drop this just because you refuse to accept something that doesn’t mean what he thinks it does. You will not be the one to cave, no matter how incredible his warmth feels on your skin.

After Roxy nods off for the third time, you think it’s time to call it a night. You poke her awake, Jane already stumbling off to the guest bedroom, and she follows. You abscond to your room before Jake can corner you alone. You lock the door behind you, for reasons you forget in the morning.


	7. It's Gonna Get Worse Before It Gets Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap these chapters just keep getting longer.
> 
> Rated F for feelings.

You wake up with dry mouth and an absurdly high craving for coffee. Rolling out of bed is easier than it would have been with a hangover as opposed to post-high wibblies. But damn if you don’t want to replace your blood with caffeine. Who are you to judge your inner workings?

Trudging outside your bedroom shows that Jake and Roxy are already awake and watching the news. They look more than a little worried, so you hang over the couch while your java brews. 

“What’s going on?” you murmur, morning quietness at full-swing. 

“There’s a hurricane coming up the coast, straight for the Gulf,” Roxy replies quietly. “Javier, they’ve called it.”

Jake adds, “Quite a big’un, so far.” His tone of concern isn’t lost on you, nor is Roxy’s hardened brow. You grab each of their hands for a moment and give a reassuring squeeze, and you ignore the imploring look Jake gives you.

“These things can turn around on a dime and head up the coast, just as they can come upland across Texas, Louisiana, or anywhere close,” you tell them. “We’ll be cautious, but we’re far enough inland that all we’ll get is a good nasty storm.”

Roxy looks unimpressed, so she retrieves her laptop from her room to research hurricanes. In the time she’s gone, Jake doesn’t let go of your hand, though you try to surreptitiously dislodge him.

“You’re sure, mate?” he asks you, once Roxy is perched with determination over her laptop. His grip is distracting, his fingers stroking yours.

“Positive,” you quip with a short smile. The coffeemaker beeps, and you quickly retract your hand and skitter to the kitchen. “Anyone want coffee?”

“Yes,” Jake and Roxy grunt. You smirk and fill three cups of black coffee, adding plenty of sugar to yours, cream and sugar to Roxy’s, and nothing to Jake’s. You bring the cups to the living room, handing them their respective mugs, and splay yourself out across the futon. Shit. It smells like Jake. You don’t know what possesses you to, but you wedge his pillow under your chin as you lie down on your stomach and sip your coffee. You intermittently get a whiff of his natural scent—all musk, god damn it, he is just too damn manly and hairy for his own good—in between the constant taste and smell of glorious caffeine. You’re not sure which wakes you up more. Jake is alternating between watching the television and watching you. You channel surf and don’t look at him.

Eventually Roxy pipes up that hurricanes are pretty unpredictable, and runs you down on if you have non-perishables and enough bottled water in the case of power outages or emergencies. You retort that that’s what Doritos and orange soda are for. She shows a smile behind her worry, and you tell her yes, you’ve got a hoard of canned soup and shit to last a lifetime. You’ve even got a better place to hole up, your parents’ house, if you need to stay on lower ground or in a basement. The house has all storm windows and a basement if it gets hairy. You tell her, and her look softens. You know she’s wondering if it’ll be okay to go back there, after all this time, but you smile and tell her it’s okay.

Jake looks confused until he sees your face, and then he’s up and sitting next to you and you’re two seconds from jumping up and planting yourself in the armchair, but his hands are on your shoulders, sitting you up and you can barely set your coffee down before he’s hugging you tightly. His scent is overpowering, and you claw your hands in the back of the t-shirt he slept in. He’s so goddamn warm. And big. Fuck you, he envelopes you like a bear with a fence post. Your libido shoots into the clouds and you’re tempted with jumping him right here, right now. But he would balk and run away, because it’s not what he expects when he thinks of what he wants. He’s too confused. So you hide your face in his neck and smother yourself in him until you have to let go.

He doesn’t end up pulling away, and neither do you, though you do get unbearably hot by suffocating yourself in his neck. Eventually you try to wiggle away, when the news is circulating the hurricane story again, but all he ends up doing in cradling you between his legs in front of him, with his arms around you. You’re not sure what this is, but this early, you can’t be tempted to care. The giddy feeling in your stomach takes forever to go away, and it returns in a flash whenever his hands move on you, or his breath tickles your neck, or his hair touches your ear as he rests his head on your shoulder. Right then, you can pretend that you’re a couple, and everything is bliss.

It’s about an empty coffee cup later (and countless wonderful stomach jolts) when Jane blearily exits the guest room and gravitates towards coffee. She starts the machine after topping it off and comes into the living room, only to stop dead at the sight of you and Jake.

Oh god, her face. Her fucking pained, destroyed, mutilated, emotions-bare-and-bleeding-on-the-floor face. This is why you weren’t supposed to be doing this with him, god fucking damn it. Jake must notice Jane’s expression too, because he wiggles away from you before you can crawl out of his embrace, and that hurts more than you’ll ever admit to anyone. Roxy sees it, though, and her worried expression is back. You gravitate to the armchair after all. Too bad you can still smell him.

You’re silent, and so are Jane and Jake. Roxy has the responsibility of breaking the tension, which she does immaculately by suggesting that they all go out and you show them the city. 

“Chipper idea, Roxy!” Jake exuberates after a moment of hesitation. 

“You all can shower in turns,” you say. “I’ll take mine last.”

“Brilliant, considering they’re more eras than they are showers,” Jane teases. Her face is tense and her eyes are accusing. You know it’s subconscious, overflow from her hurt, but the look still sears you deeply. You grin through it and don’t reply.

Roxy goes first, quickly followed by Jake, then Jane (who you suppose wanted a flash of him with only a towel around his waist, which you don’t blame her for because you wanted him to go third so you’d get to see the exact same thing), and you follow last. Your shower is considerably shorter than usual, despite you having more than a few things to ponder and think about in depth and with a few revelations about how much of a fucking dingbat you’re being.

By the time you’re styling your hair in the mirror with a blow dryer, you can smell the fruition of a miraculous breakfast. You quickly get dressed, collecting your wallet and newly-charged phone on your way out and stuffing them in your jeans, and enter the kitchen to see eggs, toast, bacon and sausages all awaiting your ravenous face. 

“Jane, you’re a downright godsend,” you croon, bending to kiss her cheek before shovelling a heap of assorted food onto your plate. She must have gone grocery shopping with the credit card you left her with yesterday. What a doll.

She smiles, even if it’s tight, and you think that the breakfast was more to appeal to Jake, rather than you or Roxy. You feel like a fucking dog, and don’t think that you really deserve any of the food, but the way she looks at you when you hesitate to eat makes you think that she’d only feel guilty if you refused it. You eat, though at a more measured and polite pace than you originally intended, and without looking up from your plate. Conversation is minimal while you all stuff your gobs. 

Teeth-brushing afterwards becomes somewhat of an Olympic event. The bathroom is far from small, but all four of you crammed around the sink with elbows flying and clown-like spit-covered smiles, it’s a challenge not to laugh and spew minty froth everywhere. 

You sadly can’t take your baby to cruise around the city, since she’s only a two-seater and the backseat of those cars is hardly spacious in the first place. You opt for the Dodge Challenger, 2012 model with leather interior and a flashy orange paint job, racing stripes included. She’s a damn beaut with a spacious backseat. Hell yeah.

You grab the necessary set of keys (all of which have a house key attached) and usher them all outside the apartment once they’ve got their bags and whatever. You lock the door and lead the way down to the parking garage, drinking in their looks of awe when you approach the thing of godliness incarnate. Money does have its advantages.

You get in the driver’s seat and, after a somewhat brutal and silent stalemate, Roxy gets in the front and Jane and Jake share the back with the bags. You’re disappointed, but not nearly enough to raise a bitch about it. Jake cuddled you this morning. He fucking cuddled you, for what you saw as really no reason except to be close to you. Jane was more than worthy of a backseat to the two of them.

You take them cruising around town, pointing out the big touristy areas, the big eating hotspots, big neighbourhoods and business districts. You take them all shopping in Baybrook Mall, which has all of their respective delights and more. You lose each of them consecutively until you’re talking to thin air, and you have to call them to figure out where they are, buy their things, and then find the next person missing. You find Jake last, in an army surplus store going absolutely bananas on all of the sick gear he’s loaded himself up with. Jane and Roxy were likewise loaded (their shopping bags atoll to this) but the look of utmost glee as you buy him his things with your brother’s money is probably the one you’ll appreciate most. The three of them share their purchases over lunch at the food court, which has a huge assortment and it takes them half-an-hour to decide what to eat in the first place.

Their spoils barely fit in the trunk.

They protest when you don’t shop for anything yourself, saying that you’ve got all you need, but they don’t buy it. On your way uptown they insist you buy yourself something, so you go to Galleria and they gravitate you towards a clothing store. You balk and dig in your heels at the one they take you to.

“Dirk, come on, they’re just skinny jeans!” Roxy argues, shoving you in the back.

“More like ballcrushers,” you hiss. “There is genuinely no point in obtrusive legwear that vacuum-seals my crotch. Negative, madams. I shall not pass.”

Jane tugs on your wrists, pulling you closer towards the genitally-offensive store. “Don’t be such a baby, just try them on!” 

“No,” you whine. “Don’t make me; this is why I buy my clothes online. Jesus dicking fuck, Jake, you let go of me right n— _umph_.” Your argument becomes invalid as Jake tosses you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and takes you into the store by irrefutable force. You do get a nice view of his ass, but this is something you shall not stand for.

He is entirely too pleased with himself as he says, “I’ll try them on if you do, chap.”

Huh. That is... a wonderful mental image. Jake’s junk packaged and sealed for public view. You can... deal with that.

“Fine,” you grunt. He sets you on your feet and you make another noise ( _hff_ this time). Jane and Roxy shop for Jake and you, respectively, after you both fire off your measurements. The size of Roxy’s pile quickly makes you sweat, as she collects not only jeans but shirts and accessories as well. Jake’s look is similar to yours, because Jane’s pile is no less daunting.

A saleswoman comes by and asks if you need help. You both shake your heads and point to the girls, gleefully going about their business. The woman smirks and gets two change rooms ready for you.

“Do you regret this now?” you snap at him. “Because in case you were unaware, you’re an idiot.”

Jake tries to grin through his panic, but his eyes belie him. “I knew you would never back down from a challenge.”

“It wasn’t even a challenge; you made a compromise and I took it, like a damn fool. Not like I was given much of a choice in the matter anyways.”

“Both of us are fools then,” Jake mutters as the girls approach you. 

They get you into a change room each, and are handed clothes in order of outfits. Your first one isn’t so bad. Just a long-sleeved shirt, vest, and skinny white-wash jeans. Typically the most hipster shit you’ve ever seen in your life, but you know arguing is going to get you less than nowhere. The jeans themselves are a tight fucking fit, and you’re grunting and jumping around from the effort of squeezing them past your ass. Jake appears to be having similar difficulties. You come out of the change room feeling awkward and squished in places. But your swag is intact and fuck everything, you’ll at least look like you don’t give a shit.

Roxy hums and haws over you, and Jane gives you a cursory once-over as well. You’re instructed to turn, and you do with red ears. “Nice butt,” Roxy admires loudly, and Jane laughs her agreement. You die of embarrassment as everyone in the store turns to look at your ass. Fuck.

“Are we done now?” you snap, shoving your hands into the vest pockets. “This is stupid, I feel stupid, and these pants are unforgiving. You can’t tell me this isn’t gratifyingly close to Saran-wrapping my dick and putting cloth over it.”

“Not the worst view,” Roxy muses, eying the fork of your legs. You huff indignantly and stalk back into the change room while they laugh at you.

Jane calls to Jake as you start stripping and are given another outfit. “Jake, are you dead in there or something?” 

“Not nearly so,” is his visibly peeved reply. “Tell me, Jane, in what universe are plaid shirts a thing that I would wear?”

Her voice is entirely too amused. “This one, it seems. Come on out, we won’t laugh.”

“I high doubt that,” Jake grouses, but you hear his door squeal as it opens nonetheless. You yourself are having another battle royal with the Jeans Armada of Crotch-Squishington, and you’re just popping out of your stall (this time with some doofy retarded sweater with way too many buttons) as Jake is retreating into his.

You both stop and look at each other.

Ohhhhhhh, fuck.

Aside from the very, very detailed visage of his thigh-to-gut area, he looks like a fucking retard. Plaid is evidently something he can pull off, but not with rolled-up sleeves and arm hair galore. He looks like a lumberjack on top and a well-hung—wow this is the wrong way to go for a train of thought—hugely-muscled hipster asshole on the bottom. His heavy boots, army-grade, fill out the whole picture and make him look completely ridiculous. 

Both of you start laughing at the same time—you suppose you look equally stupid—and then before long the girls are laughing too, and you can’t even bend over to hold your gut because your hips are glued in place by denim restrictions. Your eyes are watering by the time you return to the stall to strip off everything. Roxy doesn’t give you another outfit, and Jane doesn’t give one to Jake. You emerge and end up buying the vest because it was fuzzy and comfortable as all hell. Jake buys (you buy Jake with your brother’s money) the plaid shirt in a different colour. The girls are still laughing as you leave the store.

You all go fuck around like teenagers in a mall for the remainder of the afternoon (racing in shopping carts through JC Penny’s a damn given), have junk food again for supper, and drive home twenty miles per hour over the speed limit, much to everyone’s screaming delight or horror. Jake is egging you on every second of the way, while Jane couldn’t possibly shriek louder in terror. Your grin could break your face.

By the time you’re back in the garage, parked and safe, Jane is quivering in her seat next to Jake, clutching the seatbelt with something akin to desperation. You turn in your seat and pat her hand, even as Jake draws her to his side. Her quaking diminishes. You grit your teeth, shutting off the engine with a jerk and getting out after popping the trunk.

You grab all the bags, even though you really can’t and it hurts your fingers to squish them all fucking together in your hands and slam the trunk closed. You haul ass out of the garage and up the stairs, because you’re livid at yourself and you’re actually quite out of shape. You’re huffing and puffing by the time you get to the top floor, and there’s still no sign of the others. You drop half your shit on the floor, unlock the door, then pick it all up again in your sweaty hands and distribute out the spoils next to each of their bags, in the guest room with the girls’ stuff and by Jake’s stuff in the living room corner. You throw your measly purchase against your bedroom door and slump into a kitchen chair.

You legitimately scared Jane. You fucking scared her and it is just no fucking excuse to scare her under the pretense of having a blast. Roxy probably got a bit scared too. You didn’t have the sense to look. You clench and unclench your fists and mildly wonder what the fuck is wrong with you.

By the time they make it upstairs, Roxy and Jake each holding Jane’s hands, you’re nursing a black cup of coffee over the sink. The gorgeous view from the high-rise condo does little to make you feel better. Roxy’s delicate hand lies on your shoulder soon after you turn back from your glance at your friends. You grunt but don’t say anything. Neither does she.

Jake sits with Jane on the couch and they quietly talk. You think you may know what about. Roxy sits you at the table and takes a seat next to you. “So we’re gonna eventually have a chitty-chat right?” she muses, chin in hand.

You smile wryly. “’Spose now would be a wonderful time. What’d you have on your mind?”

“Your situation with Jake is becoming... somewhat interesting. Indulge me on those searing and steamy inner thoughts. I bet you had a hay day with that show of his earlier.” Her eyebrows waggle devilishly.

You gnaw your lip for a moment before replying. “That’s... complicated. I’m not sure he and I are on the same page. He thinks he’s developed feelings for me, and while his actions suggest that he’s not wrong, his intentions and true deposition about those feelings remains to be seen. And yes,” you cave, “I had a good hard look at his beef truncheon a la denim. It was glorious. Moving on.”

Roxy drums her fingers on the tabletop as the TV switches on in the living room nearby. You glance over to see a brunet pair of heads tipped together. “So you think he doesn’t want what you want? Or you think he doesn’t know what he wants, or he thinks he wants what you want but he actually doesn’t?” You don’t reply except for a nod, and she continues, “So talking about relationship expectations is a problem because...?”

You scratch the back of your hand. “There are better relations for him to pursue.”

She tsks you, giving you a look that simply scolds. “Isn’t that up to him?”

“He had his chance.” You try very hard not to sound bitter. “And as of right now, he can’t seem to make up his mind anyways.”

“Jake’s only vacillating because he wants to avoid the person he’ll have to reject when he chooses,” Roxy snaps at you. “And you know that. Not to mention Jane is too passive to actually try for him except for confessing and doing cute favoury shit. And you are balking at the sight of confronting the situation because you, for some reason, got used to the idea that we don’t care about you. Jake especially, just because he rejected you.”

“That’s right,” you retort. “He rejected me. Resolutely. So what the hell is with the sudden feelings? He wants me because there’s a chance that I’ll just wipe myself off the face of the earth? Great timing.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “How can I trust his feelings when they’re directly influenced by the lack of well-being I’ve had up until very recently? He wants to... protect me. He doesn’t want me.”

Roxy purses her lips, because you’re right and she knows it. Factually, at least. Jake could prove you wrong by asserting himself in a romantic way. But it’ll be his move. You’re done with hopeless motives, useless feelings. It’s his choice in the first place: you or Jane.

“About you and your mom,” you say, swiftly changing the subject. “How’s that going?”

Roxy smiles a real, sweet smile. “Wonderful. Didn’t know how much we were alike until she noticed we were wearing the exact same skirt one day. It seems silly, but... it’s become a relationship that’s healthier than it’s ever been.”

You nod. “I’m maybe beginning to understand that.” Not in the same parallel as she and her mom, but... You think it would be good if you and Dave could be close again.

You sit quietly at the table for a while, finishing your coffee and avoiding the apology you know is coming. Roxy nudges you after some time of inactivity, nodding towards the living room, and you grunt before depositing your cup in the sink and shuffling your ass to the couch. Jane and Jake look up at you—Jake with guilt lighting his features as Jane’s fingers, on his arm, tighten—and you crouch in front of her. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, with meaning. Your gut roils with shame, but in hindsight it had been fun to drive like a maniac. You still should have listened when she asked you to slow down.

Jane smiles at you and says, “It’s okay. Just... next time, maybe ten over the limit?”

You grin, standing and planting a kiss on her forehead. “You got it, darlin’.” You quickly move away to perch in the chair, and Roxy lounges all over the futon as you watch bad TV shows.

Commandeering the remote, you channel surf until you find some documentary on the ocean. It’s probably from BBC, since the narrator is British. You huddle in the chair, forcing yourself to focus on the show and not on how Jake and Jane are still closely attached on the couch. It ends up being too much for you, when the hard lump in your throat can’t be swallowed away by the end of the documentary. You apologize and excuse yourself for the night, quickly absconding to your room.

You feel like a coward, a huge asshole for being unable to handle them cuddling. They’re not kissing, they’re not talking very intimately, and they’re not even together. But if he ends up deciding to be with her, how are you going to deal with the obvious public displays of affection that are going to go down? You’re not. And that’s really it.

You work on old schematics, do some routine updates and tweaks with Sawtooth—it’s been long overdue, and Squarewave is equally neglected—and by the end of it, your bleary glance at your alarm clock tells you it’s nearly eleven. Your friends don’t appear to be heading to bed immediately, so you boot up Sawtooth with his new installations while you start on Squarewave. His updates don’t take nearly as long.

Squarewave and Sawtooth are complex, don’t get you wrong. But there’s a reason that Squarewave is inadequate to Sawtooth, and that’s because you made them three years apart. Squarewave was your first big project. He was supposed to be a gift for Bro, to help him organize himself and maybe time-manage better so you could see him more. When you told him what you were working on... Disinterested wasn’t the right word. He just didn’t care about anything you did.

Sawtooth powers up with no problems—like you’d make a mistake—and says a hollow, “Sup.” You nod at him, but don’t reply. Squarewave is updated and powered up not long after midnight, and by half past they’re both trying to initiate you into a rap battle, a strife, or both at the same time. You remember the codes for their humour, Sawtooth’s trash talk and big brotherly nature, Squarewave’s little brother antics and mannerisms, his programmed slight intimidation of Sawtooth, his awe. They were two brothers trapped in a set moment of time. You made them.

You felt dirty, wrong when you broke AR all that time ago. You felt like you were playing God, tampering with shit that you had no business meddling with. But AR was only wrong because he was too... you. You proved a point to yourself and everyone else: you were smart enough to duplicate yourself, your entire being, into glasses. Made them smarter. A super-computer you. But this... This wasn’t that. You created two original beings, people or not, and they were incredible.

“What’s eatin’ you, bro?” Sawtooth says, his unique voice deep and a little haunting. Creating his voice patterns was probably one of the most enjoyable parts of making him. His voice was tidbits of old Hollywood actors, badasses and thieves in movies, ruggish heroes in others, protagonists and antagonists alike. You even gave him a bit of Dave’s from an interview he did a couple years back. His voice was something that you could listen to forever. It was beautiful in a weird way.

“Nothing,” you say, shoving at him. It’s in good nature, though, and he shoves you back once, hard enough to sit you in your chair behind you. You laugh despite yourself, and Squarewave does too. He likes it when Sawtooth pokes at you.

“I ain’t buying it,” Sawtooth tells you. “Spill.”

You sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “Same old shit. Jake problems, only evolved. I know you’ll know that they’re all here, so I won’t bother telling you. But he keeps saying that he’s... got something going on for me. It’s unclear what that is. And of course, Jane finally confessed. So there’s another log on the fire. He can’t make up his mind on who he wants, or what he feels for me. Veritable shitstorm.”

“Not cool, dog,” Squarewave murmurs from the bed. “But are you like, talking to him about it?”

“Nope,” you say. “No matter how many times we try to hash it out, we argue and stop talking or I get all sad and shit, or... something.”

Sawtooth turns to you and if he had eyebrows, he’d be raising them sky-high. “That ain’t the best way to deal.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Let’s just drop it.”

“Whatever,” Sawtooth says, shrugging his metallic shoulders. The motion is passive, but you know he’ll probably try to grill you again later. He and Squarewave are family. Man-made, artificial family, but you made them with your own hands, your loving care. They’re almost more your family than anyone else.

“You want to meet them?” you ask, and Squarewave bolts off your bed in a huge jump. You’re glad you gave him better joints and limbs than his originals. With a thirteen-year-old mind, he was prone to a lot of movement.

“Hell yeah, man!” Squarewave enthuses. Sawtooth nods. You suspect he’s amused with the little bot.

You lead them from your room to Jane, Roxy and Jake, who are watching something on Dateline. Late night TV never fails. They seem relatively awake, and Roxy is nursing a martini where Jane has a mug of what you think is tea. Jake, empty-handed beside her, still holds her close to his side. Your stomach rolls over itself, but you walk into the room anyways, beckoning your bots with a hand to follow.

“Hey guys,” you say casually. “So, maybe it’s too late or something, but I was fucking around in my room, doing some stuff, and... well, these guys wanted a formal introduction. Squarewave, and Sawtooth.” Sawtooth steps up behind you, an imposing height even now that you’ve grown into yourself. Squarewave, a meager five feet beside him, can barely contain his excitement at meeting other people beside you and occasional glances at Dave through the years.

Roxy lets out a squeal and is up from her spot, clumsily making her way over to look closely at Squarewave. “These are those bots you always talk about? Wow, hopy ship, Dirk. This is incredible.”

A gasp from Jane has you smiling in her direction, inevitably locking your gaze with Jake’s. He looks impressed, but less so than you imagined. Then again, he’s the only one to see one of your larger-scale projects. Lil Seb was a nice companion for Jane and an all-over sweet dude, but he’s still small. This, specifically Sawtooth, is a size-factor awe.

Jane gets up from her seat to approach Sawtooth, craning her neck to look at his face. The gentleman he is, he bends down to be level with her. “Sup,” he says, making her jump and making him laugh.

“This is wonderful, Dirk. And you’re wonderful,” she says to the bot, reaching to touch him before stopping. “Oh, excuse me. May I?”

“Sure thing, sis,” he says easily, holding out his hand for her. You admire your handiwork on his fingers. They took you an entire week to complete. Pain in the ass, but maybe your best detailed craftsmanship yet. Roxy, meanwhile, is smothering Squarewave in hugs. By the occasional manic beep escaping from his speech, he’s ridiculously excited. 

Jane’s hand, lightly touching Sawtooth’s, is romantic in a way. She’s so gentle with them. Sawtooth grabs her hand, squeezes her fingers barely before letting go again. She resumes her study with a smile. Sawtooth is probably a bit in awe of her too.

Jake is on his feet, and behind you. You stand beside him and let Roxy and Jane interact to their heart’s content. “This is probably a bit lackluster for you,” you say. “Brobot ruined you on my robot shenanigans.”

“Not at all,” Jake replies. “They’re amazing, surely. But... what are you trying to accomplish by showing them to us?”

You let confusion show in your face when you look at him. “They wanted to meet you.”

“So you’re not trying to impress me so I favour you over Jane?” Jake asks, seemingly without thinking. As soon as the words are out, he realizes what he said. Your shock, you can imagine, is written across your face. 

You don’t let him backpedal, because you shake your head at him infinitesimally and he shuts right up. “No,” you say through grit teeth. “I’m not doing that. The direction of your gaze should be completely unaffected by the fact that I’m a genius. That never seems to have held much sway with you before, anyways.”

Sawtooth’s face is looking right you, undeniably eavesdropping, but he doesn’t intervene. Jake’s murmured apology is lost on your ears. “Don’t worry about it, no harm,” you murmur at him. You then say to your bots, “Do what you want. Standard rules still apply: obey laws and don’t scare people.” You leave to your room once Squarewave and Sawtooth have nodded.

Your bed holds no comfort for you. It’s not until hours later when the girls and Jake have gone to bed and Sawtooth and Squarewave return from whatever they may or may not have done in the city, and they lie on your bed with you as they power down into sleep mode, that you can fall asleep.

\---

Jake’s up when you get up, and he makes you coffee. You take the peace offering as it stands and neither of you comment on last night. Watching the news shows the latest updates on Hurricane Javier, curling his way down to graze the tip of Florida before causing some mediocre storms in the Gulf and dissipating by mid-Texas. That’s only a prediction, but Jake seems less worried about it than days past.

His hand laces with yours during a commercial for air freshener, and you don’t react visibly. Inside, your heart is accelerating by the second, and you know your ears would be red if he did anything further, but you don’t comment. Jake does.

“Mate,” he begins, “I can’t keep doing this.”

Playing dumb doesn’t seem to be adequate for right now, and you’re too sleep-addled to try anyways. “Then make a choice.”

Jake grinds his teeth, making you look at him. “I can’t,” he says irritably. “I can’t decide which of you would be happier with me. I can’t figure either of you out. Jane doesn’t initiate anything, but as soon as I do, she’s all over me. Barely lets go, like if she does I’ll never come back. You always back away from me, even though your reactions to me are astronomical. I don’t know.”

You frown at him. “Jake, this isn’t about us. It isn’t about Jane or me, it’s about you and what you feel. And, I’ve been meaning to bring this up with you,” you start, seeing his reaction of slight panic. “Just relax, it’s okay. I just wanted to know what you... think you feel. For me. Try and tell me.” You sigh. “Let me know if hope is stupid at this point.”

“It’s not,” Jake tells you immediately. His hand squeezes yours tightly, and your ears flame. He smiles warmly at you, shifts a little closer. “Hope is never stupid. As for feelings...” He pulls at the collar of his t-shirt. He actually does it and it’s ridiculously endearing and stupid and adorable. “I suppose I do like you, very much. I want to do things now that, before all of this happened, I hadn’t ever really considered with you. I want to hold your hands, and touch your skin, and... kiss you,” he adds on a whisper, as if someone could overhear. You smile so hard it makes your face hurt. “I want to go places with you and ask you out to dinner, and share a blanket while we watch movies, and sleep in the same bed so I can feel you next to me, and hear you breathing. I want to watch you sleep.” He looks embarrassed, but your hard grip on his fingers makes him continue after a long pause. “Dirk... I think it’s safe to say that I love you.”

You’re not entirely sure that you’re not dreaming this up, that you’re not still asleep in your bed with a robot cradle around you. This... You never prepared yourself for this. Jake is reciprocating. He’s returning your feelings and asserting his own to boot. It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle and you can’t even see what you’re looking at because you’re trapped inside your head, running over the possibilities that he’s bullshitting. They turn out to be zero. Your head feels water-logged when you finally resurface.

Jake’s smile, when you finally register it, is dangerously close. His lips look a bit dry, and he must be a mind-reader because at that very moment he licks them. Your pulse skyrockets. He gives you so much time to pull away, but you’re leaning forward instead and grabbing at his t-shirt. Your lips part on a very unsteady breath that shudders out of you, washes over him, and he shivers. His fingers find your waist and hold on for dear life, and then...

His lips brush yours once, twice and then you’re urging forward, sealing your mouth to his and yanking him close to you via your death grip on his cotton tee. Jake’s grunt of approval simmers through your veins as he tugs you to sit in the dip between his legs, as he did two days ago but this time, facing you. This time, macking at your face with some serious energy levels.

You’re fairly certain you’re making some noises widely described as moans, but since Jake supplies a matching set, you’re unperturbed. His hands splay against your stomach, caressing the skin there as you move. Your shirt is rucked up to your chest, and everywhere he touches you is heaven. He’s goddamn kissing you. You were so never prepared for this. You’re kind of glad you weren’t.

Jake pulls back, his breath rushing in and out of his lungs as he stares at you. You follow him instinctively, your lips searching for his, but he eases you back down and you sit on your haunches as he traces the neckline of your wife-beater. You unclench your hands and smooth the material of his shirt.

“That was a kiss,” you pant, eying him warily. Even now, suspicion riles you to the bone. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says quietly, “and a damn-good one. Well done, old boy.”

You’re not going to ask, you’re not going to ask, you’re not-- “Does this mean you... choose me?” You stare at his collarbones instead of his green eyes. “Or are you testing the waters some more?”

Jake’s hesitation is all the answer you need, and it hurts. The god-awful cutting ache in your chest hurts so damn bad, and you sit back, extricating yourself from his grip. His hands follow you, refuse to let go even as you try to pry him off.

“It’s not like that,” Jake says miserably. “Dirk, please, just listen.”

“I can hardly wait to hear what excuse you have to waste away my hopes this time, but fine,” you snap. “I am listening. Fire away.”

Jake strokes your face, smiling at you. “There’s nobody like you. No one can argue with me like you can. No one can possibly care about me as much as you do. You’re a friggin’ genius, mate, and you’re charming and doofy and endearing where it counts. I love you, and I’m not going to stop telling you that until you believe it.” 

You melt under his hands. The way his smile widens tells you he noticed. Your hands latch onto his wrists. “That doesn’t mean you don’t love someone else.”

“That’s... true,” he relents. You don’t respond. “Please, just trust me.”

“I’m finding that hard when you’re still telling me I can lose you,” you mutter weakly. “Again. You can’t have both of us, Jake. She’ll wait for you forever, because she doesn’t know any better. But I do. I do know better. I can’t wait for you forever anymore. I thought I could once, but... events have led me to believe that I’m not capable of it.” Your hands squeeze his hard. “So, I’m going to tell you this, and you have to promise that it’s not going to influence your decision.”

Jake looks worried but he nods. You think he’ll break the promise no matter what you make him do or say, so you don’t make him promise out loud. 

“If you don’t choose me this time,” you say, “I’m never going to pursue you again. If you and Jane don’t work out and you want to try it with me afterwards, I won’t let you. If you push it, I’ll leave.” Your face tells him you’re very much serious. “I’m not telling you this to be mean or spiteful because I got the shitty end of the stick the first time around. I’m telling you this because I can barely handle this now, and third time around I’m not going to be able to handle it at all. So.” 

You sigh, leaning forward and kissing him quickly. He holds you there for longer than you’d wanted, but when you pull away panting, his face is tortured. “If your feelings aren’t strong enough now, then there’s really no problem in the future. But I’ll always be your friend no matter what. I’m not going to leave you until you send me away.”

“Dirk,” Jake says sadly, “there’s no way in the fiery pits of hell that telling me all that isn’t going to affect my decision.”

“I know,” you muse, tickling your fingers down his chest. “But just... make sure it’s really what you want, not just because I’m giving you an ultimatum.” He laughs at you, and you bump your forehead with his. “I love you, Jake. That’ll never change.”

His smile is sad, but maybe that’s okay. His fingers tangle in your hair, and he pulls you close for another kiss. You let him, because you don’t know if you’ll ever get to do this again. Because of that, you push your limits way past what they ought to be.

Your hands plant on Jake’s shoulders and you shove him onto his back, crawling on top of him even as he opens his mouth to say something, probably protest. You silence him with your mouth, licking and nibbling at his lips until they open for you on a tiny sound. Tongue delving into his mouth, you groan. The sensation is incredible, even if the morning breath is undesirable. 

He pushes you off rather forcefully after another few minutes of heavy kissing and more than a bit of fondling. You fall off the couch but manage to roll to your side instead of plummet onto your ass. Jake looks apologetically down at you, but you wave him away and stand. Jake gets to his feet too, and neither of your speak for a long time.

“Go, then,” you eventually murmur. “You’ve got a young girl to smooch.” And more than likely your heart to break in the process. You turn away and move into the kitchen, opening the fridge to gaze at its contents. “Meanwhile, looks like I’ve got groceries to buy. You like those graham crackers, right? I’ll grab some if you want.”

You think Jake might entirely see through the front you’re putting up—he was always too good at reading you—but instead of the patronizing “Don’t ignore the problem, Dirk” you think you’ll get, what you actually get is silence. You turn around when you don’t hear his reply to see an empty room. Oh.

You haul ass to your room, flash-step-dress yourself and you’re gone, keys to your baby, wallet and phone in hand. 

\---

Grocery shopping is something you haven’t done in a long damn time. You naturally need some help. With your homemaking best friend currently being wooed by your crush and other best friend, and your other best friend nursing a hangover (and not really one to shop for food anyways), you call in your good pal Equius. It warms your heart when he sounds genuinely pleased to hear from you.

You drive to pick him up at his house, an adorable split-level in the older suburbs. He invites you in, and after a moment of self-debate, you take him up on his offer.

The interior of the house is clean and welcoming, and reminds you of those magazine ads for Home and Garden that always make you wish for a house again instead of a condo. Their decor is tasteful and humble, nothing flashy or gaudy, and everything appears to have use instead of simply aesthetic appeal. The toys and dolls littering the floor seem to tie it all together for a seriously homey atmosphere.

You have coffee in their breakfast nook, and are introduced to Equius’s gorgeous and outspoken wife Aradia. She shakes your hand vigorously, asks if you want anything to eat, and forces some cinnamon rolls on you anyways. You thank her and try not to shovel them down as your stomach grumbles, irritatingly reminding you that you didn’t even eat before skipping out of the house on a wave of self-pity.

There’s idle chat about what you’re currently doing, what you’re interested in, and things that Equius and Aradia are doing with the house, which is extended but not limited to a basement renovation and overhauling the backyard—again. Some while into the conversation, during a lull, Aradia shocks you by taking your hand and saying quietly, “And how are you doing, Dirk?”

Your blank look must be more evidently non-answering than you thought, because Equius chuckles. “Already better than I’ve seen him, but worse again for the same reason,” he says, and you roll your shoulders uneasily. He always gives you that impression of being viewed under a microscope. He sees you like no one else has.

Aradia lets your hand go, smiling a bit sadly. “It’s that friend of yours, is it?” she murmurs, and you lower your brow significantly at Equius. “Oh, don’t go glaring daggers at him, stupid. He’s as good at keeping secrets as I am, but when you make him blue from morning to night, he’s entitled to tell his wife what’s eating him at work. So, hush.”

You stare hard at the tablecloth between your wrists, lightly scarred from something that seems so far away already. You don’t respond except for a mumbled “Sorry” and you sense more than see Equius and Aradia share a look. You don’t know what they’re conveying. Maybe Equius is defending you, maybe he’s not. 

A lot of people can’t really... deal with you. The mood swings, for one, but mostly just... you. The way you react to things they say, what they do. Your personality, the fucked-up way you analyze people or your even worse fucked-up sense of humour. Shit like this is why you didn’t have friends in the last few years of high school, carrying over until now. You didn’t meet people that could handle you; ergo you didn’t make a lot of friends unless they were paid to be there or knew you before you turned into such a huge bitch and knew how to deal with you.

“Don’t bother,” you say as Aradia opens her mouth. “Doesn’t matter, anyways.” You sigh, rubbing at your neck and chugging the rest of your coffee. It burns your lips and heats your gut. You stand and push your chair in. “Shall we go, Equius?”

He stands as well, his considerable height filling the small space. Aradia smiles at you, takes the mugs and retreats to the kitchen. “You two have fun. Nice meeting you, Dirk.”

“You too,” you manage, but then you’re flash-stepping out of the house to get away from the guilt clawing in your stomach. You wait in the car, and Equius climbs into the passenger seat a few moments later.

“I like her,” you mutter. “I thought she’d be... loud, like that. You’re too quiet.”

“Nepeta is even more so,” he tells you wryly. “And I hope you know that she didn’t mean to offend you. By the way I talked about you, perhaps she thought your situation was... a bit more spoiled than reality.”

That statement makes you worry how Equius sees you, for his wife to assume you’re some kind of brat by how he talks about you. It makes you wonder if this really is a payday thing, and not a friend thing. It makes your face harden. Equius notices. He knows. He grabs your hand and holds it, won’t let go when you tug on it. He doesn’t say anything, because you know better than to think he does all this for you for the money. He told you otherwise once, and once was really all it took. He stood up to your brother with you. He was prepared to throw out his employer to protect you. You know he cares about you.

“Why am I such an asshole?” you ask him, tossing Dave’s old shades off away once you pry them off your face. You never really need them. It’s force of habit. Your eyes aren’t weak to light, they aren’t prescription lenses. They’re just one more shield, one more thing you picked up from your brother to be close to him.

“You’re not,” Equius tells you. He lets go of your hand once he’s convinced you’re finished denying his intentions. “You just like convincing everyone else that you are. For the record, it only works on people who don’t know any better.”

“Well it should work on everyone,” you snap. “I’m tired of people convincing themselves I’m some huge dickhead when I don’t try to appease them, and then people getting the impression that I’m some poor spoiled kid with a bad past when I do try to look like a dickhead.

“I’m tired of facades and shields,” you tell him, more calmly. “I’m tired of having walls that people have to break past to see what I’m actually like. But I can’t... I can’t get rid of them by just willing them the fuck away. I don’t know how to open up again. I’ve been closed for too long.”

Equius looks at you for a long moment, and he sighs. “It’s not entirely uncommon, but people have been known to bounce back from chronic stoicism. Sometimes medical procedures are required, and significant de-swagification therapy, but it’s certainly possible.”

Your grin might shatter you face. You shove him in the shoulder, turning the keys in the ignition with a chuckle. “Dickhead,” you snicker. His grin mirrors yours.

The grocery store is a slight ordeal, once you’re there. People still seem to remember than the infamous Dave Strider has a younger brother, and you suppose without your trademark anime shades and your similar build, people would recognize you in parallel to him. But one look at your baby face (in comparison to his at least), and your completely different mannerisms, and the fact that you’re with Equius in a grocery store seems to tip people off that Dirk Strider is in the land of the living again.

As soon as people cotton on, it’s a goddamn zoo. You were never in the spotlight, but you suppose you attended enough red carpets, dinners and premieres to warrant some attention. You haven’t been seen at a venue for at least a year, or anywhere really. You wager that another year and people would have likely assumed you died.

You had no idea so many paparazzi went grocery shopping at once. Within an hour, you’re surrounded and with Equius close to your side; you can tell he’s uncomfortable with the attention. 

“Mr. Strider, how do you feel after your battle with cancer?”

“Is there anything you’d like to say about your brother?”

“Do you know if your brother has any more projects in line for the fall?”

“How long have you needed a body guard?”

“Is this where you usually buy groceries?”

You don’t answer any questions, shoving through the people as kindly as possible with your cart and Equius in tow. You can’t express like you would with shades on your face, so you have to contain the building annoyance and anger somewhere where they can’t see it on your face.

With nearly all your groceries, you proceed to checkout while being hounded by your swarm. You’re not even famous. There was maybe five questions in total actually about you. The rest is all about Dave. What’s Dave doing? How does having a big movie star brother compare to the life we had before our parents’ death? What does Dave do in his spare time? You mostly don’t answer because they’re stupid questions, but there’s also the part where you actually can’t answer them. You don’t know what Dave does for fun, what he’s doing project-wise, how he coped with your illness—what a fucking crock of shit, by the way. You don’t know your brother, despite his recent raging attempts to mend bonds. One day, four days ago, and he thinks everything’s all good?

No. You’ve got something to say about it.

You give the groceries to Equius, send him to your place with the Coupe, and wave him off before he can argue. You’re fuming, and to him it was no secret. You’re making a trip downtown, to your brother’s place. And you’re going to have a fucking talk.

The cab driver doesn’t recognize you, despite all the people swarming around his cab. You give him Dave’s address and sit back. You mute the world by listening to music on your phone, but even that does nothing to quell your rage.

You storm up the steps to his apartment, rather than the elevator which would drive you crazy just by sitting still. Once you’re at his door, you take only a brief moment to pause and catch your breath before slamming your fist hard on the wood repeatedly and shouting, “Dave!”

You hear movement, and you step back as you hear the locks clicking. You get yourself ready to shout nice and loud in his stupid fucking face, but what surprises you into complete silence is the man that is not your brother that answers the door.

The brunette seems equally surprised. “Hi. Shit,” he says after a second. “You’re Dirk. Um. Hold on.” The man turns and runs back into the apartment, and you follow him. He fucking acts like he lives here, telling you to wait at the door. What a little bitch. You could probably toss him over in five moves or less, despite his noticeably muscled arms.

The man goes right to Dave’s bedroom, you hot on his heels, and big surprise, the asshole is lounging in bed with his laptop, probably writing up another hugely shitty movie. “Dave, your brother’s here,” the man says urgently, but you’re right behind him so when Dave looks up, all he sees is you. You slam your fist into the door, making the guy in front of you jump. He hadn’t noticed you.

“Sup, bro,” you snarl. “You’re going to fucking sit there and listen and not interrupt a goddamn word that I say until I’m done, that clear?”

By his silence, you can tell that he’s entirely unfamiliar with your level of vehemence. He’s got no idea how to deal with you right now, which is good. More time for you to talk while he tries to figure it out.

“Great,” you snap. “Firstly, I guess I was unaware of this, but I had cancer huh?” You glare daggers at him, and his bare face can’t hide the guilt there. “Giving me a terminal illness just to wiggle out of the responsibility of me, and oh lord I just can’t imagine the shame you felt having a mentally deranged brother. I feel so _goddamn sorry_ for you. I bet all your little fans and bitches were up in your face every moment of the day. Poor Dave, his brother’s dying, what a brave soul he is, oh poor him. Do you feel good that you wrote my problems away while you wallowed in the success of another skillful lie so you didn’t have to deal with me? Do you?” You shout the last words at him. He opens his mouth, but you make a harsh motion with your fist that ends up knocking something off his dresser. “Don’t fucking answer that, I don’t want to hear it.

“Secondly, you don’t understand me huh?” You jab a finger at the guy beside you, who’s more or less shocked stupid by your display. “If this fucking guy isn’t taking your dick up his ass like clockwork, I don’t know who would be. Bull-fucking-shit you don’t understand me. I came out when I was fucking fourteen. And your face said it all then: disappointment. But you’re sitting high up on your laurels while you fuck some guy and you couldn’t look me in the eye for years because I was gay? Fuck you, Dave. Fuck you. Fuck you for trying to fix all of the shit that you did. Did you beat me because you didn’t want to be gay? Did you think I gave you gay-cooties? Did you start drinking to get away from the fact that both of us are gay? Are you fucking stupid?” You stare hard at him, but you can’t see him. All you can see is red. “I just wanted you to be my brother! I didn’t need you to try and be a parent, a guardian, nothing. I was practically grown up when Mom and Dad died. You didn’t need to do anything else but grieve with me, and stay with me. But you didn’t. You left me to my own goddamn devices, which ended up being life-threatening in the long run. You abused me. You ignored every single time that I tried to do something with you, and then when I stopped trying... well, that was icing on the abandonment cake, wasn’t it?”

You dig in your pocket, snatching the ring that you took from your old house. You throw it at him, and it’s a tribute to his reflexes that he catches it. “That was for you,” you say, as he studies it. “I was going to give it to you, as a peace offering after all of this shit. But you can just... fucking take it. Just take it. I don’t want it.”

You wipe your eyes, which are leaking, god damn it, and eye up the guy next to you. “He’s all yours, whoever the fuck you are.” You glance at Dave. “Thanks for the introduction, by the way. He seems nice.” You turn around and leave Dave’s bedroom. 

A hand resting on your shoulder makes you whip around and put the hand’s owner into a hold, his arm bent behind his back. But it’s not Dave. You let go. “Fuck off,” you say, turning around again.

“Dirk, wait,” he says. When you don’t, he continues, “Okay, I’m John, nice to meet you. And if you just wait, you can talk to your brot—”

“Did you not just hear me?” you say, pausing at the front door. You turn to look at John. “Did you not hear any of that? I’m done. Have a nice life.”

John grabs you again, and you don’t hold back this time. You grip his wrist hard, spin him around and shove him onto the floor. “Stop. Touching. Me,” you hiss at him. “If you know the situation then I’m sure you can understand what this is about. So, leave me alone. He can have what he wanted all this goddamn time. I am so fucking gone.”

You wrench the door open and slam it behind you. You hate yourself when you wait. You wait for so goddamn long outside his door. But he doesn’t come. 

You take the elevator down to the street and start the long walk home.


	8. Confrontation is the New Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for makeouts

Jane, Roxy, Jake and Equius are all waiting for you when you get home. Equius pulls you into a rib-crushing hug the moment you’re through the door, which is a terrifying breathless ten seconds. You wheeze at him, and he seems to notice that you’re not exactly up to that sort of pressure, because he lets you go and you drop onto your feet with a gasp.

“Sup,” you mutter, clearing your throat.

“What did you do?” Equius asks immediately. 

You shove past him, planting your ass on the couch and reaching for the remote. “Didn’t do shit,” you say. “Just told him to fuck off permanently, or I would. Actually, I think I told him mostly that I would be the one to fuck off, and he should leave me alone. Either way.” You shrug as if you don’t give a shit.

“This is about your brother, isn’t it?” Jane asks you, and you turn your head to look at her. You just nod. “And you said that to him? Why?”

Gritting your teeth doesn’t help the fact that you’re still a little mess of rage inside, but it makes you feel better. “He told the press I had cancer when I lost my shit. He would rather give me a disease than deal with his temporarily psychotic brother. You tell me that you would put up with that shit, on top of everything else.”

“I would,” Roxy tells you, plopping down on the cushion to your right. “I totally would.”

You glare at her. “Did your mom ever shove your head into a door? Did she ever punch you in the face, call you nothing, step on your hand until it almost broke? One good day out of thousands of bad ones doesn’t make up diddly-fucking-squat. He just wants to clear his conscience. Because all of a sudden, for some reason he has one.”

Nobody says anything, and you set down the remote with a sigh. You sit back and fold your arms over your chest. You haven’t even met Jake’s eyes yet. You’re fairly certain you can’t. He sits on the futon with Jane, and your heart withers in your chest, but you expected it. You expected him to make public displays with her, like he wouldn’t with you. You can tell what his choice is before he can, and it hurts all the way to your fingertips.

Roxy takes the remote and channel surfs until she finds America’s Funniest Home Videos. Before long, you’re all laughing at the faceplanting cats and dads getting sacked by their kids. Roxy holds your hand, and her face is sad but understanding. Maybe Mom wasn’t the nicest Mom before they started bonding. Maybe you’re not the only one with a short stick there. You squeeze her hand, because maybe she can’t fully understand the shitstorm, but she knows what it’s like to have a shit guardian.

Equius goes home a little while after that (and he unlocked the kitchen stuff for you, what a sweetheart) saying something about Nepeta’s rehearsal for the school play. You walk him to the door, smile when he ruffles your hair and brings you in for another, much gentler and more soothing, hug. He tells you to call him tomorrow, and you concede. You shut the door after him.

You’re all watching Wedding Crashers (again) when Roxy pipes up, “We should totes smoke some more.”

You raise your eyebrows at her, and Jane adds, “I have to admit, it was really fun.”

“If you guys want, I’ll grab my shit and we’ll toke it up,” you say with a shrug. “I ain’t got no beef with that.”

“Maybe I’ll sit this one out,” Jake mutters, as you stand. You look at his shirt instead of lifting your eyes to his, but you can see enough of his expression to acknowledge the shame and worry there. He wouldn’t want to lose control with Jane in front of you guys. How ungentlemanly. You grab your stuff, a pipe this time, and sit on the couch with Jane and Roxy now on either side of you. Jake observes from the futon.

“Aight, ladies, I’m gonna show you how to smoke with a pipe today,” you say very professionally. You pack the bowl, screen included, and demonstrate a hit for them nice and slow. “You keep your thumb over this hole while you light and inhale, then take it off to get your hit and inhale some more. Don’t forget or you’ll scorch yourself. I’ll help you out the first time.” You aid Roxy with her hit, lighting for her, and coach her through what do to. She does fine, coughs a bit through it, but grins at you anyways. You smile and turn your back to her to help Jane.

Which puts Jake in keen view. Shit. You try your best to ignore him as you hold the lighter for Jane and light, telling her what to do as well, but every few seconds your eyes stray to the cargo-shorts on the futon. Shit shit shit. Jane exhales after a good hit, and you bring the pipe to your lips and take another pull to soothe yourself. Maybe it was a good idea to smoke tonight. You might’ve gone a bit haywire with Jake fondling Jane all over.

Jane moves back to the futon after she and Roxy have another puff each. Immediately, Jake cuddles her close. You look away and search for another movie as Wedding Crashers ends. Right away Jake hollers that it’s his turn to pick, so you ask him what he wants. He says Lord of the Rings, so you put in disc one for the first movie without even fighting him.

You don’t smoke anymore, preferring to stay chilled rather than high. Jane and Roxy are high as fuck, though. Roxy continually stares at her feet, wiggling them and giggling. Jane is kissing at Jake’s arm and shoulder. He’s not pushing her away. 

You absorb yourself into the movie, following the little hobbits and making obscenely random pairings and then picturing sex scenes for them in your head. One that you really like is Aragorn and Frodo. Aw yeah. Frodo takes it like a man. Hobbit. Thing.

Well, you are perhaps more high that you thought if this is what you’re thinking about. Abruptly you stand up and move to the kitchen to hide a seriously unwelcome chubby and also to make food. Your face, it is hungry.

You make a mess of batter everywhere, but the pancakes turn out all right. You make enough to feed all of you, and bring them into the living room on a big plate. You don’t bother with syrup, but you do get some drinks for everyone. Roxy takes a pancake in each hand and stuffs them in her face quite gracelessly. You laugh at her without even realizing you’re doing it.

It’s partway through the Two Towers when you keep dozing off—not even eight o’clock yet, what the hell—and you jerk awake to giggling. Roxy is taking another hit from the pipe, Jane and Jake are making out on the futon, and Squarewave and Sawtooth have made an appearance. They’re sitting on the floor, arguing about who’s a better fighter, Aragorn or Legolas. You can’t decide who’s winning though, because they’re both offending and defending both fighters.

“I’m tellin’ you, li’l bot, Aragorn has some mad power but Legolas is all precision. They couldn’t beat each other,” Sawtooth says.

“No way, man,” Squarewave rebukes. “Aragorn is the best fighter ever; he could destroy Legolas so hard. If he could catch him,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Long-range, Legolas has got it hands-down,” Sawtooth states. 

You watch them argue uselessly back and forth, something that they do often and actually enjoy, for some reason. You smile at them and the small movement must be enough for them to see, because they both turn to you. “You guys are stupid,” you tell them, not entirely sober yet.

“Back at you, kid,” Sawtooth says, and Squarewave laughs. He always finds it funny when Sawtooth insults you. You know that’s a brother thing.

You stand, a little uneasily, and Jake breaks away from Jane when he notices. You look at his face and wish you didn’t. You want and need him and you poured out your heart, twice now, and he’s yanked the rug out from under you solidly. He hasn’t let go of Jane all night. He can’t get enough of her; meanwhile he couldn’t get away from you fast enough. That was an easy decision to make, you suppose.

“I guess that’s your choice, then,” you whisper. 

Jake hears you. “Dirk,” he begins, but you flash-step to your room and shut the door after you. 

You knew it, you knew it, you _knew it_ , but you let yourself believe he would choose you. You knew that he’s liked Jane in some way for years, that Jane’s loved him for almost as long as you have. You knew they were so fucking perfect for each other but you just let him give you all that false hope. You even gave him an ultimatum that bordered on basically the finality of any possibility of the relationship. He still chose her. Now it’s really over.

You fall asleep almost as soon as you hit the covers.

\---

Sawtooth and Squarewave wake you up at some obnoxious hour before noon and after ten. “He wants to talk to you,” Sawtooth says without hesitation.

“Nothing else to say,” you mutter, yawning and sitting up. “It’s over.”

Squarewave makes a small noise synonymous to a discontented grumble. “He looked upset last night. You should talk to him. Cheer your bro up.”

“He brought this on both of us,” you snap at them. Squarewave recoils, but Sawtooth is like stone. You could never shake him. “He did this. And I let him. So just for once in your lives, drop it when I tell you to goddamn drop it.”

“It’s our problem too,” Sawtooth retorts. “You think we like seein’ you all messed up, huh? You’re a fuckin’ train wreck when it comes to this kid, but we can’t do anythin’ because you always tell us to back off. So you listen. He wants to talk, and if there’s anything to go by how nervous and upset he is on the other side of the door, then he’s probably feelin’ exactly what you are. So get your ass movin’, bro.”

There’s a surprised gawking noise from your door, which says that Jake has been eavesdropping. You grit your teeth and glare at Sawtooth, moving from your bed to your computer. “Might as well come in,” you call to Jake. “It’s open.”

The door opens slowly, and Jake pokes his head in. “Um, mate, I’m sorry. Can we... talk?”

You motion him inside and hiss at your bots, “Get the hell out. Go patronize someone else.” They obey, Squarewave leaving through the door past Jake and Sawtooth flashing out of the open window.

“What’s up?” you say smoothly, leaning back in your computer chair. He sits on your bed awkwardly and doesn’t respond, so you goad him. “Giving Jane some recovery time before you smother her again?”

His face reddens and he barks, “Don’t be an ass, Strider, I’m here for serious business.”

You smirk. “Well, what is it then, buddy? You can tell me anything.” You’re feeling cold, and malicious, and maybe you want to make him feel like absolute shit for taking you on this roller coaster called An Enormous Waste of Time and Emotion: Part Two.

“You’re not making this easy to say,” he mutters, frowning.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, I’m sorry if this isn’t easy for you, Jake. I made the rules simple to understand, but you stomped all over those the first time ‘round. Then you wanted another go for the exact same result. So maybe I’m tired of making it easy for you.” You sigh harshly. “Fucking say it, so we can get on with our lives.”

“It’s not what you think,” he says earnestly. His hands fidget constantly in his lap, tweaking his wristband of braided leather. 

“So you’re not here to tell me that you pick Jane and I’m shit out of luck?” you say dryly. “Because there’s only one other option, and I’m fairly certain you haven’t picked that one considering the genuine amount of face-eating going on last night. Which was really nice of you, by the way, to demonstrate that in front of me.”

Jake grinds his teeth—you watch his jaw work in frustration—and spits out, “I choose you, you giant dickhead. And I’m sorry for the... display.”

You stare hard at him until he’s forced to look up at you. He doesn’t look like he’s lying, though he looks worried and pissed off. “Bullshit,” you say anyways. “You pushed me away. You pulled her closer any chance you got.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake says again. “I wanted to be sure. I didn’t push you away because I didn’t want you, you dolt.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I wanted to hurry and get it over with, so I could figure it out. And I have.”

“You wanted to hurry,” you mutter, “so you kissed her _all day_?”

“It didn’t feel the same as you!” Jake exclaims hotly. “It was different, and I didn’t know what it meant. I do now. It means that Jane doesn’t make me feel the same as you do.” He smiles at you, a real smile, and looks at his hands. “It’s so easy with you. I felt that I had to actively try with Jane, to make myself hold her close and kiss her. I thought maybe it was a gradual thing, but it wasn’t. She’s just not the right one.”

Jake is laying out all the cliché one-liners—you immediately blame the movies—and it’s tacky and way too romantic and almost feels like a set-up. Too bad you solidly don’t give a fuck. You force yourself not to stand and mount him on your bed. “That so,” you muse, allowing yourself a coy smile.

His face looks relieved at your teasing, but his hands still fidget. Maybe he’s decided, but that doesn’t mean he can’t harbour reservations and doubts. That sobers you a little.

“It’s pointless to emphasize this,” Jake says with a small smile, “but I want to be with you, Dirk. No one else comes close.”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “Not sure you want to take Roxy for a go? Or maybe you dig my bots. Sawtooth is taken, sadly, but Squarewave is single.”

Jake balks at you, then laughs uproariously. “You’re such an ass,” he bursts out. Your response is a grin, and when he calms down neither of you say anything more. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s tense.

“Does Jane know?” you ask quietly. “And how does she feel about being played with?”

Jake swallows. “I... informed her of the testing situation before engaging anything with her. I made positively sure to let her know the impending risks of going along with it, in case I didn’t choose her.”

“She probably thought you’d choose her after all,” you tell him. “I did, too.”

“For a while, that was my general conclusion as well,” Jake sighs. “But then, well, I got here with the girls and it was so... different than I’d imagined. I had hoped that, over the computer, you’d maybe acted more sorrowful to play to our attentions.” 

Jake starts backpedalling when you wipe your expression blank. Everyone thought you were playing to sympathies, and maybe you were. But not on purpose. “Listen a moment, Dirk, I don’t mean that you’re hoarding any sort of attention, per se. I just mean that...” He sighs again, running fingers through his hair. “When we got here, you were so worse-off that we thought. We thought you’d be mostly normal, typical Dirk with some additional baggage. What you actually are is damaged. Because of me.”

You frown at him. “Not just you. Don’t go getting a big head.”

“The point remains,” Jake continues, “that we weren’t expecting you to be so... beaten. God, you were like a husk when I first saw you. There was nothing in your eyes, save for panic at our appearance.” Jake allows himself a tiny smile. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you looking panicked.”

Looking down at the floor, you laugh a little. “Y’know, I didn’t think I would either. But it’s not all bad to feel more human.”

Jake chuckles. Silence lowers on you both again, Jake picking at his fingernails on your bed and you drumming your fingers on your legs in your chair.

“So... what happens now?” Jake asks, after a few minutes of silence.

“I am going to leave that entirely up to you,” you state. “Fuck me if I’m going to ruin this now by pushing you too fast, too soon.”

Jake expels a breath, apparently relieved. Did he think you were going to start dry humping him the moment he said yes? The thought makes you smile.

“I like it when you smile, chap,” he tells you gently. “Especially without those shades. I get to see your whole face.” 

You smile wider just because of what he said, looking right at him. He keeps your eyes locked with his, and eventually he smiles too. You’re surprised when he stands, walks until his knees touch yours and looks down at you.

“Would you mind if I lead?” he asks haltingly, as if he’s unsure how to ask to be the top. Oh wait, he probably is. And it’s not like you’re going to have sex anyways. He’d balk like a deer if you so much as touched his dick, of this you are certain. So hell yes, he can lead.

You nod at him wordlessly, leaning back as he crawls onto your lap. It takes a couple adjustments before he’s situated comfortably on your lap, maneuvering into the nooks and crannies of your chair. This is more than you’d ever hoped for. He’s initiating it, he wants you. You think you can die now.

Jake’s lips lower slowly, and you don’t move until they brush yours. You let him drive the kiss, taking it slow and leisurely while you essentially lay back and take it. That sounds bad, but it’s not like you’re not kissing back. You follow his movements to a T, and since both of you don’t exactly have the most experience for this particular area, that’s basically all you can do. You only know what to do based on films you’ve seen. It’s not all that bracing for actually doing it.

Not to mention it feels way better than watching it or reading about feeling it.

His kisses are way too slow for you; you want fast, heavy and hot. You’ve been waiting forever. You’re more than ready for anything to do with fucking Jake English. Or Jake fucking you. Anything, honestly. But he’s been turning this over for some meager time period that pales in comparison to your five-year crush. He’s been coaxing feelings for a few months, maximum. He wants nice and easy. And since all you want is him, that is what he’s going to get.

You don’t want to scare him away by doing anything he wouldn’t like, so even though he cups your face with his hands, you let yours sit limply on the arm rests. You barely even move your hips, despite his shifting on top of you. There is absolutely nothing you’re doing that could possible deter him. Look at you, such a good little bottom.

Jake’s fingers curl into your hair, around the back of your head, and you sigh hard into his mouth. He draws back infinitesimally to study your face. You refrain from nibbling on his lips.

“What is it?” he whispers to you.

“Nothing,” you whisper back, maybe exaggerating your mouth just enough to tickle his lips with yours. “Just been a while since I thought this was possible. I’m still half-convinced I’m dreaming, and Roxy’s about to bluster into my room half-buzzed and vault onto my poor, helpless sleeping form. It’s not an entirely comforting thought, I assure you.”

Jake chuckles, pressing his lips to yours briefly before drawing back into an upright sitting position. So much for the kissing. You smother your sigh.

“Don’t suppose you’re feeling at all peckish?” Jake asks you, with just the hint of a pout. 

Hell yes you are feeling peckish. Peckish as in you want to continue to peck his mouth with yours, ie. kissing. Fuck food. But it’s not like you could ever deny this little shit anything—and maybe you’re a little starving. You smile through the tension in your jeans, which you accidentally slept in. “Yeah, I could definitely eat.” You don’t elaborate with the sexual innuendo lying on your tongue. 

He climbs off your lap with something left to be desired in the delicacy department. Neither of you comment when his knee drags over your stiff crotch. By his intake of breath, he noticed, and you don’t say anything in order to save him the embarrassment of knowing how much he aroused you. You follow him wordlessly out of your room after briefly checking the mirror on the back of your door to ten-second-fix your hair.

Jane seems to be completely unaware of Jake’s new decision, because she sits right next to him at the table as he comes back with pancake leftovers and syrup. She even places her hand on his arm as she strikes up conversation. 

You level a hard stare at Jake and confirm your suspicions when he tugs idly at his shirt collar and doesn’t really meet your eyes. 

The cowardly bastard didn’t tell Jane yet. You could scream.

But you don’t. You grab the last of the pancakes and heat them up in the microwave, taking a seat next to Roxy instead of next to Jake, where you want to sit. You don’t look at him as you stab your pancakes. You contribute to the conversation normally, replying amicably enough when asked how you slept and where the bots are. Roxy has an absurd interest in them, and has no problem with praising you on their craftsmanship. Her pacification on your bad mood—which you suspect she’s aware of—makes you smile into your orange juice.

Trademark to the last few days, you all basically sit around like lazy bastards and watch movies. You break away for a while during one of your least favourite movies (Jake’s love of cinema is honestly broader than the entirety of cinema and there is a line and he has crossed it, goddamn it) to call Equius and sort of vent to him. He listens while you fume about Jake being a selfish butthead and Dave being a fucking skeeze and a hypocrite, and you tell him how bad you feel for making this visit from your friends such a shitty, dramatic mess. He soothes you, his deep voice like a balm on all your gaping, doubtful wounds, and you thank him and offer him some hospitality, but he politely declines because Nepeta has a thing tonight that he wouldn’t miss for the world. You understand, and hang up after your goodbyes. 

You and Roxy actually duke it out on some video games, eventually having all of you playing Mario Party 8. Though you’re having outrageous amounts of fun, you get more and more tense as the day goes on when Jake still hasn’t told Jane. And although he’s sitting next to you, he’s not touching you. His knee barely whispers against yours.

You anxiety builds, brick by uneasy brick the longer Jake goes without purposely touching you or acknowledging that something’s different in any way. By the time supper rolls around (Jane is making lasagna) you feel like the Berlin Wall and you might spontaneously fall over and crumble into pieces.

The kitchen smells incredible as the pasta-sauce-cheese masterpiece cooks, and you’re twiddling your thumbs anxiously. Maybe he chose you on a whim, to own up to the fact that you said you’d never say yes again. Maybe he’s doing this because he thinks you’re going to go suicidal again once he’s with Jane. You’re not sure you won’t, but the fact that you believe he would do something like that makes your blood chill. Unconsciously, you shiver at the thought. Would he think so little of you?

Well, he doesn’t need to, does he? It’s already happened once.

You jump hard when there’s a knock on the door. Slowly, as if in a trance, you rise to answer it. For good measure you look out the peephole to see who it is.

Blond hair registers in your mind a split second before those dickhead shades, and you snick every lock on the door closed. “Nobody’s home,” you spit through the door loud enough for him to hear.

“Kid,” Dave says, and it’s in that tone of voice that makes your gut curl very unpleasantly with something akin to fear. “I wanna talk to you.”

You feel more than hear the others cluster behind you in the hall, and the slight touch on your shoulder is reassuring, but not comforting. You don’t need to look to know that it’s not Jake’s hand, anyways.

“Leave a note, management’s not in right now,” you snarl back, acidly. “You’ll get a response in three to five business days. Oh wait, no you won’t, because you’re a huge, cock-sucking, hypocritical, lying _asshole_.” 

The door thumps when he throws his weight against it, making you jump back a good few feet with another twist of your gut. “Open up,” he roars. It’s not entirely clear.

He’s drunk. Of course he’s drunk.

Maybe Roxy recognizes she’s not the only one that drinks. Maybe Jane finally understands why you don’t talk so much about your Bro. Maybe Jake sees the real fear in your face. Whatever it is, they step in front of you and shove you well behind them before Jane starts unlocking the door.

“No,” you croak. “Don’t—”

“Hush, babe,” Roxy murmurs, her long-fingered, elegant hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. “He’s not going to do anything.”

The whine that escapes you is uncharacteristic, uncontrolled, and you’re breaking free of Roxy’s grip to turn tail and run to your room to put another locked door between you and Dave. You think they anticipated it when no one comes after you.

Dave’s not a quiet drunk, and although he’s at the other end of the apartment, you can hear him clear as day. “Where is he?” he asks.

“Somewhere else,” Roxy says. “What did you need?”

“I need to talk to him,” he barks, and you flinch. You feel a hand on your shoulder and almost bite your tongue through, but the touch is cold and fleshless, and you turn to see Sawtooth. A moment later Squarewave appears. He grabs your hand and hands you Li’l Cal, whom you snuggle into your face to reduce your shaking.

“What about?” Jane asks. Her voice sounds like her normal, bubbly self. But she’s never been one for misplaced anger. She’ll want to see it for herself before she harbours any hostile feelings.

“None a’ your damn business, is what,” Dave spits. “Get outta the way.”

There are footsteps, heavy and intent, and your face tightens. But they stop short. “I’m afraid not,” Jake says forcefully. Thank god for that hulking physique of his.

A tense silence follows. “I brought y’all here,” Dave hisses. “And you’re gonna treat me like this?”

“You neglected some very vital information when you told us about Dirk’s well-being,” Jane says primly. “And your part in it.”

“You can’t play the dashing protagonist brother when you’re part of the fuckin’ problem, I assure you that!” Jake exclaims, maybe a bit too exuberantly. 

Dave scoffs. “What’s the little shit been sayin’ now? That I beat him? Load of bull, kiddies. If ‘m beating him, then why ain’t I in jail for child abuse?”

Another short silence, and your heart drops into the soles of your feet when you think that maybe they believe him. But then Jane says, “Because he loves you. And he doesn’t want to hurt you anymore than you want to hurt him.”

Sawtooth holds you up when your legs threaten to let you fall. Nobody speaks in the apartment, Squarewave beeps idly beside you with nerves, and you clench your hands so hard in Cal’s sweater that you’re afraid you’ll tear the fabric.

A loud thump makes you jump, but then Jake is grunting and what sounds like dragging something down the hall. You ask Squarewave to take a peek, in a whisper, and he disappears outside the door in a flash. He returns a moment later.

“Taking Bro to his room,” he says quietly. “He passed out.”

You exhale and nod. Sawtooth lets you go, and you miss the contact but you’re able to stand on your own. You hear Jane and Roxy outside your door talking quietly, so you open it.

“How’re you doing?” Roxy asks immediately.

“Okay,” you lie. “He’s out cold?”

Jake comes out of Dave’s room and closes the door behind him. “Like the dead. Suppose he’s not so much the bad guy as a tortured good guy being bad.”

“Makes no difference in his actions,” you mutter, rubbing your face tiredly. You reposition Cal to hang off your neck. “God, I’m so tired of this crap.”

Jane looks down at her feet with a cursory glance at you. “You never truly insinuated how bad it was.”

You sigh. “No, I don’t suppose I did. But the only time I tried to really bring it up, I didn’t get such a good return. I figured once was enough.”

Nobody needs you to clarify the various grounds of that statement. Jake pales and shifts his gaze to Jane without looking at you. He doesn’t need to. You know he’s guilty, he’s putting off telling her because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings any more than he wanted to hurt yours. And maybe he’s doubting his choice, but that’s okay, you think. As long as you can have something, anything, to remember him by. Something besides chummy handshakes and claps on the back.

Something like his dick in your mouth.

But you’ll get to that after all this garbage is dealt with.

“He’ll be easier to deal with sober,” you say after everyone’s situated back in the living area. Sawtooth and Squarewave have come to join you, probably to make sure you’re okay. Your gratitude isn’t lost on them. They know you too well to miss the looks you give them.

“And a good thing that,” Jake mutters. “He just waltzes in here and thinks he might do whatever codswallop he pleases!” He huffs and slouches into the chair, arms crossed and a petulant, angry line across his brow.

You appreciate Jake’s concern, but he’s exaggerating the situation. Well, you admonish, maybe he’s not. Maybe you’ve played down the problem for too long, and so has Dave. Neither of you really... talked about Mom and Dad. You didn’t discuss how you felt with each other, or about the guilt that both of you undoubtedly were drowning in. It never came up, even though every day, every interaction had so many opportunities. Then Dave started getting farther away, and those opportunities disappeared when he did. Never talking about it became something you had to deal with. Neither of you really got over what happened, and both of you stewed until, two years after your parents’ death and two years of substantial drinking later, Dave started paying you visits again.

“It’s okay,” you tell them, because you think they need to hear it more than you do. “We’ll talk it out. If he’s sober he’ll see reason. And... sometimes he looks like he really does want to mend fences. It’s the drink that makes him think otherwise.”

“You can’t blame that nature on just booze,” Roxy says, and you have to agree. “S’not about what it gives you, it’s what it brings out of you. Dave has been like this for longer than he probably realizes, and it came out when he started abusing alcohol.”

“He’s not—” You have to pause and try again when your throat seizes up. “He’s not a bad guy. He’s just misinformed and seriously bad at communication. We never dealt with shit after our parents died. We just ignored it and each other, and bottled it up until we both sort of exploded.”

“That’s still no excuse,” Jane begins worriedly.

You intervene before she can continue. “I know that. I’m not giving him excuses. I’m just trying to... enlighten you guys on the shit that he’s in with himself.” If you were him you’d probably feel like shit every morning you woke up alive, and you know very well how it feels to feel that.

There’s a small silence, broken only by the slight mechanical sounds coming from the bots on either side of you—Squarewave sat on the floor by your legs and Sawtooth took up the extra space between you and Jane on the couch—until Jake suggests, “Anyone up for some games?”

The six of you spend the evening eating delicious lasagna (not the bots, though they comment pleasantly on how nice it smells) and doing shit-all but playing games in rotations. You maintain that Dave will sleep well into tomorrow morning, and everyone takes an early night. You all feel sort of exhausted anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT FINALLY HAPPENED AFTER ONLY 45,000 WORDS AND A WHOLE LOT OF MESSY FEELINGS. YAAAAAAAAAAY.   
> C:


	9. Beginnings to an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! Okay, couple things for this chapter:   
> Warning for mild violence (Dirk, Jake and the bots strife)  
> Warning for delicious shower sex (no penetration)  
> Warning for butthead Jake   
> Warning for best brother make-up scene ever (you're welcome)
> 
>  
> 
> (I suppose this means I have to add shower sex to the tags;;;; )

The next morning as everyone recognizes themselves once again with consciousness, you strife with your bots for the first time in a long, long time.

The rooftop is dry and arid in the Texas heat, but off in the distance you can see the approaching storm rolling in off the Gulf. It’s another while away, but it’s surely coming. Despite the impending storm, the asphalt emits heat radiation that distorts the air above it. Your bots immediately disperse into hiding spots on the roof as you unsheathe your sword and mildly stretch your limbs. 

Sunlight tickles and warms the bare flesh of your neck, face and arms. You missed the kind of warmth that you only felt by being outside with the sun beating down on you. You missed the sun. Despite your pale complexion, you were outside fairly often before everything. Without friends, you could do whatever you wanted when you wanted. That meant rooftop strifes with your bots, or karate practice and upkeep (usually on cooler days), or skating at the skate park a few blocks away. All things you used to do, and all things you miss. Physical activity was something you very sorely missed, you’re coming to realize.

Squarewave jumps the guns, like always. He’s eager and rash, much like a kid—but that’s his programming, and he’s endearing this way. You block his punch with a sidestep and a cool deflection. He’s coming right back though, quick and eager, and you’re blocking with your sword (which your bots kindly retrieved from lock-up for you) and your gloved hand as he starts using both fists.

Squarewave is usually who you use for barehanded practice. He was who you practiced holds on when you first started karate, and then once you took up sword-fighting, Sawtooth could help out with that. Not that either was incompetent with the opposite.

Metal fingers catch in your shirt hem—the dirty rascal—and Squarewave tosses you over his shoulders, attempting to grab you in a hold to suplex you on the pavement. You flash-step out of his grasp and kick him away to screech across the roof some ten feet before coming to a halt. You catch a glance of Sawtooth repositioning himself before Squarewave attacks again.

His fists fly and you have minor difficulty blocking each one. A few pass your defenses and graze your jaw, catch your shoulder, but nothing to put you out of commission this early in. You deflect a punch of his and are able to wrench his arm into an awkward angle and kick him away again, only seconds before Sawtooth jumps in.

The larger robot is faster and stronger than his smaller counterpart, and it gives you momentary panic. You eye the glistening of his sword as it slices the air above your head—barely managed to have ducked in time—with awe and reverence. Sword-fighting, you also missed. You missed it a lot.

Sawtooth lands some twenty feet away and turns sharply to immediately charge you. You run at him and your swords clash with a mighty clang, only to be swept apart a second later and re-meet once you’ve both flash-stepped and charged again. You try to keep an eye out for Squarewave, because there’s no doubt that the bots will try to tag-team you. One hops out, and instantly the other pops in. You know their style. On occasion, when you’re at top game, they’ll both attack you at once.

It’s obvious you’re not at top game with the way you can’t deflect some hits, that there are some swings of Sawtooth’s sharp blade that nick your shirt, your pants, sometimes your skin. Nothing serious, but enough for him to claim a hit. You leave similar dings and scrapes along his metal carcass, but not as many.

Squarewave knocks your knees out from behind, and you collapse in front of Sawtooth. You weren’t expecting the hit, and you’re quite shell-shocked. The slightly metallic chuckle above you snaps you out of the brief reverie, and you roll away to slash a hard line across Squarewave’s back.

“No cheating, you little dick,” you snap at him good-naturedly. 

The little bot’s head rotates around to eye up the damage on his torso. “Aw, man, you sliced me deep! That ain’t cool, dog.”

“Fighting like a cad ain’t cool either,” you drawl. “Play fair, boys.”

A presence behind you makes you spin and cleave downwards, but your blow is blocked by two interlocked handguns, held by Jake. “I gather the odds could tip towards your favour as well,” he says, and you don’t bother smothering your grin. You tip your head towards the bots, which have long since dispersed again, and you press your back welcomingly to Jake’s. You hadn’t even heard the trio come up to the roof.

His touch is only a little distracting, but overall very comforting. Your mind skitters with the possibilities of being energized, exhausted, and sweaty after a good sword- or gun-fight. You picture Jake in a similar situation. The mental image sticks, but your concentration barely falters. You allow yourself a smile before you sidestep a kick by Squarewave.

Jake is more vocal than any of you when he’s fighting. He calls out names, goads his opponent, jeers and insults. It’s a refreshing change from the near-silence of your usual strifes.

Sawtooth is trying to turn Jake into shredded meat by the way he’s going at him, but Jake is surprisingly holding his own. It’s only obvious that he’s doing so well because of Brobot. He really has improved. You feel proud of yourself, your creation and Jake.

Roxy and Jane are calling mixed encouragement from the sidelines. They’ll cheer for you and Jake one minute, and Squarewave and Sawtooth the next. Maybe they’re trying to remain unbiased and polite, but you just think the girls actually became fond of your bots. It’s adorable, and a little funny.

Sawtooth, after a trademark bot-switch, lands a dirty hit on you; a punch to your jaw that sprawls you out across the asphalt. Your breathing heavy, you sweep out his legs from under him before he can flee and lower your sword to his neck just as he lands.

“Your win,” he says evenly, and you grin as you haul yourself up and then offer him a hand. Although he won’t need it, he takes it anyways and lets you help him. You notice quite a few bullet holes in his hide, and raise a brow. “His aim is rather good,” Sawtooth adds. “I think he hit some wiring, so I’ll most likely need some repairs later on.”

“Noted,” you say, turning to watch Squarewave essentially get wrestled to the ground in a full-nelson by an unarmed Jake. His guns lay some five feet away, probably discarded once he noticed that Squarewave fought barehanded. You don’t have to imagine the glee on his face because it’s right there in front of you. The silly bastard loves to wrestle for some reason, even playfully, and his shout of triumph is enough to make you call out a mild cheer for him as well.

Squarewave taps the ground in defeat, sparking slightly where Jake managed to pull his joints apart—okay, honestly, how fucking ripped is he? This is borderline illegal now—and Sawtooth flash-steps to his brother’s side to help him up. Meanwhile, Jake runs over to you to grip you in an enormous hug.

“Good job, man,” you say, your breath stuttering even more thanks to his embrace. “You showed him what.”

Jake’s hot breath rushes over your face when he pulls back, and the smile lighting his face is enough to make your toes curl. You lean forward without thinking, and your lips just barely touch his before you stop yourself. His wide-eyed look tells you that mild shock prevented him from pulling away sooner.

“Sorry,” you huff, abruptly pulling away. His hand reaches for yours, but then the girls are there congratulating you and they didn’t see the little interaction so you’re off the hook. You accept Roxy’s hug even as she complains that you’re a sexy-gross-sweaty-Texan-hot-mess, and then Jane’s (who is more polite in merely mentioning that you might want to shower) and then Sawtooth is carrying Squarewave and you’re jogging over to them.

“What’s up, dude?” you ask. “How do you feel?”

“Crappy,” Squarewave says, his voice staticy. “Whatever that dog is eating, make him stop! Another minute and I’d be in pieces and you’d be carrying me inside in a damn box, yo!”

You smile and fistbump him when he lamely raises his arm. “I’ll fix you up right-good, man, don’t worry about a thing. Go on inside and power down. Just take it easy, yeah?”

Squarewave nods, and Sawtooth flashes past you and through the roof’s door.

“Is he, ah, going to be all right?” Jake mumbles.

“He’s fine,” you tell him. “He just loves the attention. I’ll need to fix them both up but it’ll be okay.” You clap him on the arm. “Good fight, Jake.”

His smile makes you wish you could really kiss him and not have to worry about Jane or Roxy seeing, and feeling so guilty, and so smothered by wanting what he doesn’t want. You lead the way inside and back down to the apartment. Sawtooth left the door open for you.

“Dibs on first shower,” you say the moment Jake opens his mouth. Your smirk speaks novels in triumph as you pass him in the hall to grab a towel. But you add in a whisper, “Maybe this is a prime time to lay down some news on a lady, hm?”

His panicked expression is enough to make you doubt his decision for the millionth time, but you don’t say anything. You close the bathroom door behind you and start undressing, trying to covertly eavesdrop on the living room to see if he’s going to try and talk to her. You don’t hear anything above the light noise of the TV. You try not to scowl.

The water’s hot and soothing on your slightly aching muscles, drawing out the tension with every drop. Your sigh echoes against the linoleum as you start your shower routine: mostly faun over your hair with a bunch of expensive products, vaguely remember half the time to wash the rest of your body, and always clean your ears. God your ears can get gross and it is priority number one to clean those bitches, which is what you always start with.

Which is why you don’t hear the bathroom door open and close and nearly shit yourself when there’s a shadow of a person on the other side of the curtain. You refrain from letting out the glass-shattering scream that catches in your throat.

“Who’s there?” you snap, grabbing the loofa-on-a-stick. What a great weapon.

“Christ, Dirk, it’s only me!” Jake’s voice squeaks, the shadow’s hands raised in defense.

There’s a solid ten seconds where you process this new information, then: “The hell are you doing in here when I’m showering?”

The shadow fidgets enough for you to grow extremely impatient and rip open the curtain, exposing your upper half as you cover your lower half with the curtain.

“Seriously though,” you mutter, mildly glaring at him. “The fuck.”

“Um,” he says stupidly, staring at your bare chest. Your skin warms pleasantly at his obvious attraction, but that doesn’t mean he’s technically welcome while you’re doing your shower ritual.

“Jake,” you say, making his eyes snap up to yours. “Why are you in here?”

“I thought we could...” he begins, and the implications of what he might say pushes all of your blood flow straight to your dick.

“If you say ‘shower together’, I’m going to scream,” you say, rubbing your face. “Have you even told Jane yet, like I literally just asked you to?”

Jake’s face reddens and he mutters a negative. 

“So let me get this right,” you sigh. “You won’t tell Jane that we’re officially together so she can stop hitting on you and making me feel awful for not even being able to kiss you in front of them, but you figure it’s cool if we shower together?” You are so for this idea regardless of Jake’s asshole tendencies but honestly, does he ever try to think?

“Uh, yes?” he swallows, looking big-eyed and adorable.

“And how would us being naked and wet together factor in to the problem that you don’t even feel entirely comfortable making out yet?”

“Um,” he murmurs, and his face is pleading but his eyes are scared and worried, and he’s too goddamn precious right now, you can’t fucking handle him. You’re about to do something really stupid, probably, because of that.

You drop the curtain and expose yourself.

Jake’s gaze absolutely glues itself to your half-hard dick. There’s the occasional glance at your legs or lower stomach, but it’s all mostly focused right on the money. Your self-consciousness skyrockets and you try not to twitch or fidget as he stares at you. The look on his face is almost pure want, aside from the apprehension that you can very much relate with.

The tension builds in you, until you’re about ready to whine as he does nothing but look at you. “Jake,” you plead. His eyes dart up to you again, and he jolts out of his trance and hesitantly starts undressing.

His shirt pools on the floor behind him and now it’s your turn to stare. His chest is broad and well-cut with muscles, more defined than you could ever hope for, and dusted with dark curly hair. But when you study him it’s not for comparison, it’s for appreciation. You think your mouth is watering when his biceps flex as he undoes his belt and pants.

You spend an absurd amount of time just staring at his hip bones, which jut out attractively and cast shadows against his bronze skin. His low-lying pants pull his boxers even lower down when he removes the articles separately. His legs are thick and hairy, and again every movement ripples at least one muscle and your eyes trace them obsessively. 

His thumbs hook in the elastic waistband of his boxers, and the hesitation there is tangible enough for you to look up. Jake’s eyes meet yours instantly.

“You can back out at any time,” you murmur, even as it kills you to say it because you’re pretty sure there’s no walking away from the massive erection you’re now sporting. It could essentially explode at any minute. It’s a dick bomb.

Okay shut up, trying to be funny inside your own head isn’t helping anything.

Jake nods, swallows, and shucks his boxers down in one fluid movement. 

You stare.

God, do you stare.

He’s thick and wonderfully tan and goddamn gorgeous from head to toe, but if you wouldn’t worship that beautiful dick until you died then you wouldn’t do much of anything worthwhile. Fuck he grew up great.

He’s shivering, from cold or nerves you’re not sure. This is definitely a huge step up from making out in your chair or on the couch. You guys haven’t even really touched each other and here you are basically at fucking home plate already. Not that you think you’ll be penetrating in the shower, but holy hell, this is actually happening.

You hold out a damp hand to him, and once his glasses are removed he takes it. You step back into the spray and he follows, closing the shower curtain behind him. You don’t touch anywhere except your hands.

“Jake—” you begin, but falter when you see his big green eyes looking at you. “Um, you have to tell me when I’m doing something you’re not okay with. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings, just tell me. Okay?”

Jake nods again, and it’s all you can do not to gnaw your lip through as he stares down the length of your body. Slowly, his hands raise and he rests them on your arms, gentle and warm and big. They stroke idly up and down, and you shiver in response. 

It’s a few moments before you can steel yourself enough to put your hands on his chest and several more after that to wrap your arms around his neck. This brings you well within kissing proximity so it’s no problem to bend down in the slightest and press your lips to his.

It starts slow and easy and very wet, since you’re basically kissing under an open spray of water. His lips form to yours easily, and it’s unfair how nice his tongue feels against yours. You smooth your hands over his skin, across his shoulders, down his back and nearly to the curve of his ass before you stop yourself and instead dig your fingers into his hips when he pushes you into the wall.

“That’s not very nice,” you mumble during the momentary pause. His grin blinds you and it’s all you can do not to legitimately swoon. Naked Jake English grinning at you while wet and naked in a shower and pressing you to the wall naked. Oh, save you Jeebus.

His big hands frame your face as he dives in again, and you mildly notice his buck teeth—hardly noticeable, he’s fucking perfect and two infinitesimally larger teeth will change none of the many reasons why—as he licks your lips. Your grip on his skin tightens when his body grazes yours from knee to nipple and it’s all you can do not to bite his lips off when you feel him against your thigh. 

“Jesus, is this honestly happening to me right now?” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

“Yeah, it is,” Jake replies breathlessly. You rut your hips into his to test the waters, and it’s an awkward slide at best, though the movement on your dick is heaven and he’s warmer than he ought to be. You try again, using your handhold on his hips to aim yours and getting a decent grind from it. More than decent by the way his breath ghosts over your face in a needy huff.

“Tell me you want me,” you moan into his ear, thrusting again. The shudder of his wide shoulders makes your spine liquefy and his response is to grab your face very hard and kiss you breathless while you grind your erections together. 

The tempo picks up more quickly than you’d anticipated. To be honest, for your first time together you’d been expecting a horribly awkward mess of limbs, fumbling hands, erection ups and downs, too-quick ejaculations and just a seriously mediocre time. But this isn’t. Jake is wonderful and beautiful, and you want him so much. You don’t know if it’s so great because you love him way too much and you’re biased, or if you’re overwhelmed because it’s finally happening after so many years of aching doubt and telling yourself he’d never go for you.

You’re abruptly snapped back to the task at hand—goddamn it, focus for ten seconds please—when Jake groans into your mouth and breaks apart on a gasp, burying his face in your neck as he rides against you faster, humping you into the tiled wall.

“Christ, Dirk,” he moans. “I want you so badly. I just—” Jake cuts himself short after you thrust hard against him and keen. Your legs hurt and you feel like if he weren’t holding on to you then you’d be flat on your ass five minutes ago. Despite this, you’re not sure if you can stop doing any of what you’re doing.

Jake surprises you—maybe it was obvious how tired you were getting—by grabbing your thighs and hoisting you to rest against his groin, legs over his hip and chests flush together. A moan rumbles out of you when he pushes you back into the wall again to continue rutting against you. “Fuck,” is all you can manage. His hips are erratic and dangerously fast. Jake’s body trembles against yours as he hits his climax a few thrusts later, and his arms pull you close to smother you into his warm skin as you grab your dick and pump until you’re screaming mutedly into his shoulder.

You drift down more quickly than you’d like, but the water’s getting luke-warm since you’ve been in here for who knows how long. Jake detaches you from him and sets you on your feet. You wobble but manage not to fall over like a jackass. You get your bearings enough to register than Jake is quickly soaping himself off, mainly his and your spunk mixed across his abdomen, and shampooing at the same time. You remember to somewhat lather yourself and condition your hair before the water gets glacial and you’re forced to shut it off.

Jake doesn’t speak as he dries himself off and gets dressed back into his sweaty clothes. You don’t say anything either and wrap a towel around your waist. You don’t know what to say. He’s suddenly giving you the silent treatment after fucking you against the shower wall and he probably regrets it, and you’re so done with being so fucking unsure of every single thing that happens to you. This is bullshit.

Shoving past him out of the bathroom, you enclose yourself in your room to avoid the passive and confused look on his face. You sigh, getting dressed in clean clothes and trying not to feel down on yourself but it’s coming and you know it. You want to claw your feet up again but you’re not sure you could handle their reactions a second time. 

Sawtooth and Squarewave are huddled together in the corner by your computer, powered down and awaiting their necessary repairs. You envy their closeness. They’re really brothers, and they manage just fine being fucking robots. You and another human can’t seem to fucking figure it out but two artificial beings got that shit down-pat.

Everything sucks, you justify with a discontent grumble.

You style your hair in the bathroom with the blow-dryer once Jake’s gone back to the living room, mildly spiking it rather than going ape-shit. You mostly don’t have the energy, but it’s also annoying as hell to lather it with so much gel just to get it to stay. 

Jake’s changed into clean clothes and the living room is less awkward than you anticipated. You sit in the arm chair, predictably, and watch whatever’s on the TV with mute and undivided attention. 

Twenty-two minutes into the news updates for Hurricane Javier (he’s approaching land fast, should be here by nightfall) and you’re rather forcefully reminded that you have another houseguest who, until just now, had yet to wake up. 

Dave stumbles out of his room, mildly groaning for caffeine and looking like utter hell. He’s still in the suit and tie ensemble that he was wearing the night before, which suggests he’s been out cold the whole time, but the clothes are rumples and shifted awkwardly. His glance at the living room and its occupants is cursory at best, and then he slowly turns to face you as you stand from the chair.

“Afternoon, Dave,” you say quietly. The way he studies you from head to toe, worry etched all over his face, makes you think he’s looking for something. 

“Dirk,” is all he says, and he takes a step toward you but you take two back and that makes him stop.

“Fool me once,” you growl, and he gets it. Of course he gets it. He’s smart, despite the implications otherwise.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Did... Um, did I...?”

“No,” you mutter. “But you certainly tried.”

Dave looks behind you to the rest of the living room’s occupants. Your glance provides a brief image of their stony faces. “Their doing?”

“Yes,” you reply. “You see, Dave, they—strangely enough—seem to care what happens to me. It’s something you never really got.” Your hard look does little to faze him, but the words do what your eyes can’t.

“It’s not really like that,” he says quietly. You don’t bother with a reply to that useless statement, so he continues, “It’s not about me not caring, kid. It’s about me not knowin’ you anymore. We’re different than... before Mom and Dad. Everything’s different. I didn’t think you wanted me around after I shafted you so many times just so I could pick up my career.”

“Which, honestly, doesn’t explain why you decided to come back with the shittiest intentions ever after your career sped up,” you snap, and he goes to butt in but you glare at him and he shuts up. “ _But_ I’m willing to overlook that considering you’re a raging alcoholic, and that happens to not be my fault at all.”

Dave’s mouth turns down at the corners in a characteristic grimace, something that is very recognizable up until about a month ago, because it used to be your default facial expression. “I don’t care why you started being the hugest dick in the universe,” you say tiredly. “I don’t care why you started drinking. I don’t care why it took you five years to figure out you’re gay all on your own instead of blaming it on me. I don’t care why or how or what or fucking who, even. I care about you, and that’s it. Your problems are shit, and that’s great and all, but you need to fucking deal with them like the rest of us and not shove it on your kid brother under the pretense of, you’re fucking hurting because the world’s mean and our parents died.” 

You sigh hard and look at him without coldness, or malice, or hostility. You just look at him, and he does you the same courtesy and simply looks back at you. “You’re a great person, Dave. When you’re sober. So that can be your ultimate step one.”

He huffs tiredly, rubbing his face. “If you think I’m going to fucking go to AA or some shit, you can forge—”

“Even better,” you interrupt with a somewhat snarky smile. “I suspect being a big hotshot celebrity with alcoholism isn’t something you want to parade about as you go to weekly meetings, anyways. And we’re not sending you to a clinic or anything either. Everyone here happens to be very intelligent in some way, and that’s how it’s going to be so very easy to detox you right here at home.”

Dave’s face is shocked for a few brief seconds, but then he’s back to grumbling and in the midst of it all, you hear a mild but convicted “fine”. 

“Since when did you get all your shit straight?” he mutters, perching his sunglasses on top of his head as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

“Since,” you sigh expansively, “I just started dealing with it all.” You pause, glancing back at your friends who’ve come up to stand close to you. “And it’s not like it doesn’t still hurt sometimes, but that’s... that’s okay.” You mean that, but everything that hurts at the moment is Jake-induced. Jake humped you in a shower and now he won’t look at you. He’s covered with regret, with doubt. Dave’s just all regret, because there’s no two sides to that problem. It’s just him and all his shit. So that one is easy to fix because you’re a small factor in the big issue, and it’ll get solved by fixing one part at a time. 

But you don’t know what Jake’s problem is. He loves you, but he loves Jane. He won’t tell Jane that he supposedly chose you, but he still wants to be with you enough to come at you in the shower. He avoids your eyes once you’ve done the nasty, but he avoids Jane’s too. The fuck is his deal.

Dave groans and gravitates to the coffee machine, but Jane rushes over and assures him she’ll make some for everyone. He sits at the kitchen table instead and fiddles with his phone.

“John’s going to come here if we’re all having some big fucking showdown for celebrity sobriety,” Dave after a while. “He’s actually clean as a fucking whistle, the little shit, so he’ll be having the best time ever with you guys as I get clean. He’s been asking me for ages to stop drinking.”

“Who’s John?” Roxy asks.

Dave smiles, a small thing but unusual enough to inform you that John is different. “He’s my best friend.” He leaves it unsaid, but with everything that’s been going on, you all know who and what John is to your brother.

“Where do you know him from?” Jane asks, setting down a cup in front of Dave and handing one off to Roxy and Jake each. 

“Work,” Dave replies after a lengthy sip. “He’s a screenwriter for this drama for the same company that funds my movies. It’s actually not a bad show. You guys heard of _Skaia_?”

Roxy slams her mug down on the counter and sloshes hot coffee all over in the process. “Oh my god, that’s literally my favourite show ever. You’re friends with John Egbert?” She holds her face in her hands, as if unable to believe it. “Oh my fucking shit. Oh my shit. Oh my shitting fuck.” Her breath wheezes out, and you pat her shoulder awkwardly as she has some kind of conniption. 

Dave eyes her over his coffee. “He’ll be pissing his pants to meet a fan. He has insecurities about his work. He’ll probably ask you for ideas, too.”

Roxy has what appears to be a stroke and sits down hard on the kitchen floor. All that comes out of her is a whine. You and Jane aren’t entirely sure what to do about her. Jake laughs really hard.

John comes over by the time Jane is half-way through cooking brunch. Formal introductions are met, and he seems nice enough, if a bit blunt and rude. He’s honestly just... normal. How disappointing.

Roxy essentially slobbers all over John the moment he’s in the apartment. They sit down on the couch and he gets consistently more nervous the closer she gets to him. As she starts laying into him about Skaia, he perks up somewhat. You leave them to their devices.

Dave sits across from you at the table, now typing away on his laptop, which John brought over along with clothes and some other essentials. Jane and Jake are in the living room, actually watching TV and probably laughing at John and Roxy.

“What stopped you from getting sober before now?” you ask quietly. “And why did attempt number one to fix this shit with me not go through?”

Dave looks up at you from what you assume is his next script, and he’s bare to you with his shades on top of his head. He sighs and stares back at the screen when he answers, “There’s a certain amount of pressure in my line of work. You’re a smart guy, so you probably already know, but it wasn’t just one movie after another. It was movies, and endorsements, and merchandise, and franchises, and constant press stuff and appealing to various audiences and all kinds of mediocre to standard lame bullshit. I was tired of people most of the time, and when I wasn’t, I was just tired.” He grins, a slight bearing of teeth to show some amount of humility. “The general public thinks I’m such a fuckin’ cool guy, but it’s got shit to do with that. I’m just bored with everything that I have to do to keep doing the one thing I want to do: make things that are mine and share them with whoever wants them.

“Even back when all I did was music and spin for clubs, it was the same. People saw my apathy and boredom and confused with them for aloofness and coolness, and it’s just... it’s not me. I get interviews where the guy or chick expects me to be some bastard who doesn’t care about the lesser folk. They can’t believe it when I act like a human being.” Dave rubs his mouth, glancing up at you. “When I drink, I become that guy. The asshole, cool guy that everyone wants me to be, thinks I am. I started drinking to live up to the image because I was so tired of people seeing me in such a wrong light. I wondered what it was like to be that badass guy. It was great, but... it sucked. It sucked so fucking bad, kid.” Dave laughs, probably at himself or for no reason. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I became the guy that you knew I wasn’t. I’m sorry I caved to the pressures of society. I was the one that taught you to be yourself, and I was the one that let you down in the exact same way.”

You blink hard to get rid of the wetness in your eyes, but it does little good. Dave sighs hard.

“When I came here that day, I did want to get better. I did. I wanted to be a brother again, not the asshole move writer guy. I missed you. I missed family shit. But it was hard to let go of it, since I’d started. John wasn’t convicted enough to force me because he wasn’t sure it was what I really wanted, and you weren’t around to make him see that it was what I needed. I never told him about you, about what I was doing to you.” He sniffs, and you’re shocked to see that he’s crying. “I thought that if he knew, he’d leave me. He probably would if I did anything worse. But he stayed. He stayed with me until I sobered up that night after you came to shout my fucking face off”—he shoots you a grin and you wetly return one—“and then I told him. I told him everything and he stayed and he said that I really needed to fix it. So I’m gonna. For me, for you, for him, for your friends. We’re going to get better, Dirk. I promise.”

Dave gets up from his seat and comes to yours. He kneels in front of you and removes the ring that you chucked at him those nights ago, and holds it up to you. You stare blankly at him until his face breaks into a smirk.

“This is the most ironic shit I can think of right now, just roll with it, dude.”

You laugh and grab his hands when he offers them to you. “Dave, please don’t tell me this is where you’re going to propose to be my brother.”

“Oh hell yes it is,” Dave quips. “Don’t fucking laugh or I’m gonna laugh and then we’ll never get anything done. Alright. Dirk. I promise to be the sickest, most annoying older brother in the whole world, just like I was. I’ll help you with whatever you need help with, if you ask, and I’ll be suspicious of your love life and rib on you when you lose your virginity (unless you already have and then I’m wayoverdue), and snark at you just because. I promise to apologize within five days of a really bad fight, whether it happened for a reason or not. I promise to be Dave again, and not the other asshole guy that, let’s be honest, nobody fucking likes. So, will you be my brother?”

You sigh and try very hard not to laugh. This is so gay, so very, very gay. “Oh fuck, why not.” Dave grins and slips the geared ring on your index finger. You both sit there for a while and look at it.

“This is really gay,” Dave says, and you both break into outrageous, barking laughter.

“Keep it down over there!” Roxy shrieks. “I’m living every wet dream I’ve ever had!” John chokes on his drink, a can of orange soda, as he takes a sip. 

Dave grins and sits back in his chair, resuming his work. You sort of just... sit there and stare at the ring. You had originally intended to give it to him—and you suppose you had, though a little more aggressively—to symbolize the mending of your relationship. But this way made more sense. He was the one that needed to apologize. This wasn’t on you. Nothing was on you. Nothing was your fault. So it made sense that you weren’t the one who gave something up to the amends. You twist the ring around your finger idly, and smile.


	10. Contentment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long overdue chapter and for that I am so sorry but here you go!!

It turns out that Dave’s attitude can be described with an algorithm, representing increasing bitchiness per hour that he goes without a drink, but decreasing at a third of that rate when he’s working with provided caffeine. You know, because in the days following your heart-to-heart, you figure it out. You sit down and write it out to a T. Because you need something to keep your mind off of how much of a little bitch he’s being.

Every hour he’s got something to complain about. He’s got something that needs researching, so you’re forced to help because you’ve got nothing better to do and you won’t let your friends help the bastard because that’s honestly not fair to them. They don’t deserve a snarky Dave in their face.

John helps, god he helps so much, because he knows how to deal with Dave the Drama Queen. When Dave asks—demands—for something particularly impossible, he pats his face, smirks and tells him fuck no. When Dave raises a bitch about it, he sits there and takes it, looking supremely amused. When Dave’s done ripping him a new hole, he says no again. 

You think you love John.

There are moments when Dave is like he used to be, though. Cool but dorky, and a great big brother. He’ll have you sit next to him and discuss something with you, ask you about your bots or AR, and you’ll tell him whatever he wants to know. He’ll talk with you about his new project, ask you about something (“Does this work here? I feel like this really doesn’t work here.”) and values your opinion when you respond (“Dave you’ve got no fucking idea how much that doesn’t work there.”). You missed this. It makes you feel like part of a family again.

In the times that you’ve got nothing to help Dave with or nothing to be yelled at for, you spend time with your friends. You take them out to new movies that are playing, you take them out to a nice dinner, you take them out to a play or show. They enjoy it all well enough, and you learn little things about them.

You learn that Jane positively hates buttered popcorn, and Roxy can’t sit in a dark theatre without someone to her left. You learn, rather humorously, that Jane likes to be scratched on the shoulder for no reason. You learn that Roxy actually writes novellas, and when you get to read one, it’s incredible. She’s also unused to praise.

You learn that it’s supremely easy to make up with Jake when the only reason he was weird after the episode in the shower was because he was unsure about his performance. You learn that when you touch Jake on the hand at McDonald’s while Roxy and Jane are in the bathroom, he’ll grip your fingers so hard you think he’ll break them. You learn that, two days after you made up with Dave and started this huge mess, he told Jane. 

Jane takes the news alright. You didn’t notice any large change in her behavior. Maybe she was a little taciturn, a little withdrawn from you. She could get a wounded look in her eye for a second before she hid it. But she must see that, while you’re sorry for her pain, that you’re happy. You’re so goddamn happy, it’s unreal. Jake touches your leg while you watch TV early in the morning. He lets you hold him in your arms while Hurricane Javier beats against the high-rise the first night of Dave’s sobriety. He whispers in your ear late at night when he’s getting tired and everyone’s steadily losing energy. He’ll coax you to bed, and often follow you.

It’s something that you’re so unprepared for, but you fall into it so easily. Dave catches you staring at Jake one afternoon. He’s watching TV and you’re at the kitchen table tinkering with Sawtooth’s motherboard, making minor adjustments where necessary. You’ll abruptly glance up to find him, and then you’ll just sit there and stare. You watch a tiny movement of his brow when a comedian flubs a line, but he laughs anyways. You subtly watch the way his arms move a little restlessly, his fingers brushing against the couch as if searching for something. Then he’ll look up to find you, and you’ll smile so damn big at him. Jake grins back and it’s like your heart jump-starts for the millionth time that day. You’ll sit there and stare at each other across a room until one of you realizes that you’ve been doing it for minutes on end and people have probably noticed. 

“This is the part where I’d tease your ass about being such a girl in a relationship,” Dave says, his eyes flicking briefly to you over his laptop. “But given that you’re acting like the brightest little guy who ever sucked a dick, including endearing doofy faces, I’ll let it pass. This time.”

You smirk at him and smack his arm. “As if you and John are any different. Don’t act like I don’t see you making goo-goo eyes at him across the living room. And you grab his ass like, every single chance you get.”

Dave sniffs at you, mock offended. “Yeah but have you seen his ass? It’s fucking incredible. Bubbliest butt on the planet, I’m telling you.”

You snort into your coffee, which encourages some glances from the living room’s occupants. You hold eyes with Jake, again.

Cracking his neck, Dave yawns. “Have you even taken him out on a proper date, dude? I mean I know you’re basically attached to each other at the heartstrings but you need to woo a man proper-like. Take him out.”

“I do take him out,” you retort. “We went shopping, and to the movies, and we went to see the parade the other day—”

“Shut up,” Dave suggests. “I mean like, relationship crap. Take him on a date. Just you two. Your friends will more than understand.” 

That particular phrase makes you curious, and you look at Roxy and Jane on the couch, cuddled together and giggling at the TV. Nothing really seems amiss. Until Roxy plants a chaste kiss on Jane’s cheek, and Jane makes a small complaint but doesn’t make a fit over it.

Roxy, you little dog. 

You take Dave’s advice and make arrangements for you and Jake to have a date night; a reservation at the nicest joint in town after an early movie and then... What? Are you going to assume that after the date he’ll want to come back to the condo and fool around?

You inform him to keep his evening free, and he concedes with a curious look. Your face reddens and you don’t elaborate. He lets it go and holds your hand, fiddles with your fingers while you watch TV.

 

Your closet thankfully has some nice clothes residing in its depths, a hold-back from when you did press stuff with your brother on occasion. You grab a suit ensemble and tie from the back of your closet and start getting dressed when it occurs to you that in the last year, you’ve grown too much to be able to wear your suits. 

You have a mild heart attack. You undress and throw on some sweats and haul ass to Dave’s room to rifle through his closet for something, anything to wear. He catches you and you jerk away quickly, an excuse on your tongue.

It turns out to be unnecessary, and Dave’s smile is very amused. “Here, I have some older stuff put away.” He digs at the back of the closet, grabs a few clothes bags and drops them on the bed. Unzipping them, you notice that they’re smaller than his suits now. He filled out somewhat in the last few years too.

“Hold-over of the whole image thing,” he admits when you ask. “It wasn’t cool to be in Hollywood and not be some buff, or at least cut, stud muffin. I caved, sue me.”

You snicker, imagining how discontent Dave would have been to get rid of his little extra chub, but you suppose all is not bad. Being in shape isn’t the worst thing in the world, even if it’s for the dumbest reasons.

You try on the suits to find that they fit relatively well. The pants are only the slightest bit long, but not noticeable enough to be a real problem. Dave brushes you off while you preen obsessively in the mirror.

“Relax, dude,” he says, thumbing at the knotted muscles in your neck. Your mouth curves into a frown. “It’s just a date. You’ve already done everything under the sun with this guy.”

You haven’t, though. There’s a lot of stuff sex-wise you haven’t done. The first time after the shower was the most awkward experience of your life, and you were only using your hands. After that it became easier. You still haven’t had penetrative sex; it’s been mostly hand jobs and blowjobs (none from Jake, though; he’s actually the most skittish thing ever when it comes to doing new things to you and it’s too cute). You’ve maybe encouraged him to wander his hands, but he never gets the hint. Not that you mind, maybe he’s not into that. But you haven’t really... talked about it.

Actually, to be honest, you haven’t talked about a whole lot either. You still get into petty little arguments over movies and other dumb shit, but there hasn’t been a lot of relationship talk. Like what happens when he goes home, or when he’s going home. Whether or not he has any doubts about pursuing you instead of Jane. If he wants to go home, or if you could come with him. You don’t have the balls to bring it up. You’re afraid of the answers you’ll get.

Dave snaps you out of it with a shake. “Dirk. Focus. Don’t freak out. This is what tonight is for. Do not lose thy shit, okay? Just... breathe. Take it easy. This doesn’t have to be big unless you want it to be.”

You exhale explosively and try to shake off the anxiety. “I do, though. I don’t know how long this is going to last, if he’s going to stick around forever. I want... I want him to know how much he means.”

“Well, good. Then take him out, wine and dine him, spoil the crap out of him, indulge in his bullshit movie tastes, and then shove your dick in his ass. The epitome of gentlemanly.” Dave’s smirk doesn’t quell your nerves. He is not helping anything, the enormous prick.

You sigh, and it’s uneven and shaky. The girls are getting Jake ready in the spare bedroom, and you informed them of the occasion beforehand and its significance. Jake complained all the way about having to get a suit for tonight, but the girls enjoyed taking him shopping. You hear the ghost of their conversation through the wall. You’re tempted to eavesdrop, but they’re more than likely just gabbing at him anyways. 

You linger in the living room, fiddling with your keys while you wait. Dave watches you from the kitchen. His eyes are tired, his face a bit haggard, but he looks... fresher. A little more lively. The withdrawal is hitting him, but it’s manageable enough. And it helps that he’s so convicted to change to help everyone around him. You think John might’ve bribed him with no sex until he really did quit drinking. The thought makes you laugh.

Mid-chuckle, Jake appears from the guest bedroom. Your jaw drops and hits the floor.

You’re still not sure what you did to deserve his affection, but you feel like it may be related to divine intervention. Because he is _divine_.

Jake is resplendent in his evening clothes. His starched blue shirt is snug around his chest, stretching against his skin and pleasantly defining the hard layer of muscles there. When he turns to scowl as Roxy shoves him out the door, his slacks catch every curve of his legs and highlight them for view. His tanned skin looks edible right where the buttons of his shirt part over his collarbones, and chest hair curls appealingly just within sight. 

Jake turns back to look at you and his eyes do some roaming of their own. You try not to blush under the scrutiny, but by the way his eyes narrow just slightly you know that it’s in vain.

He walks to you easily enough, though your own knees feel like rubber. He stands there and you both give each other another once-over before you murmur, “Don’t you clean up well.”

Jake’s hands are warm on your face. “Likewise,” he replies, and kisses you. 

Your fingers latch into his suit jacket and it’s a few minutes of slightly sloppy make-out noises later when Dave clears his throat and suggests, “Shouldn’t you kids get going? Your movie starts soon.”

Jake smiles apologetically at you and leads the way from the apartment. You follow with an exasperated look at Dave and a brief check that you remembered your wallet and keys.

Jake’s not an idiot by any standards, but he can be unbelievably dense. That’s sort of what got you into the whole horrible confession mess, because he really never saw it coming. So you’re not surprised when the gravity of the night seems to evade him during the drive to the theatre. Then again, he’s probably just ignoring you for the excitement of the movie. Which you entirely expected and are not going to get jealous over because it’s just a movie. 

Damn it.

The theatre is packed since it’s the premiere night for the movie. You had the sane thought of pre-buying tickets online, so now it’s only a matter of getting junk to eat so you can properly ruin your appetite for your late dinner and sit through a movie and try not to die because Jake is too absorbed in it to want to fool around in the back of the theatre.

You wait in line for Jake to get his bucket of popcorn and you end up getting some Swedish Berries. You pick your seats, something mid-row and closer to the back because Jake doesn’t like to crane his head to watch the screen, and because you’ll do anything to appease him. Even when he doesn’t notice when you fidget with the lapel of his jacket to get his attention. 

The movie turns out to be okay for a piece of crap, and Jake holds true to his nature by ignoring you through the whole thing. You didn’t expect much anyways. Ugh, movies.

He chatters about it the whole way uptown to the restaurant, and you indulge him and discuss plot and shoot him down when he insists that it’s an instant classic—“Oh my god Jake you say that about literally everything, and I’m telling you right now, classics are classic because they happen to be good”—and he pouts when you soundly beat him in the argument. You nudge his knee with your hand to try and get him to look at you, but the darkened city outside the car appears to be more interesting.

You’re early for your reservations by a little while, and you’re asked to wait while your table is made available. You and Jake end up sitting outside on the curb in the cool air, rather than wait inside where it’s crowded.

Jake’s knee bumps yours, and you look up from staring the pavement to study his worried face. “What’s up?” you ask.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” he says, and your gut seizes. “I suppose I understand that this is a date and I don’t mind the idea but is there any kind of point to it?”

You press your lips together and look back down at your feet. You need him to realize, so very much, that tonight is important. There’s a significance in tonight that he’s not getting, and you don’t know if you can tell him outright. Your anxiety peaks as he rests a hand on your arm.

“No, man, it’s just a date,” you say. “I thought it would be nice to get out, just us. Sorry. We can do normal stuff, I just thought—”

“Dirk,” he says, and it’s a little sad. It makes you glance up. His green eyes bore into you. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him. You grab his hand tightly in yours, and he pulls you to face him. “I guess it was a miss from the beginning anyways.” Jake’s fingers clench and his other hand loops behind your neck to pull you into an all-tongue kiss that leaves your stomach in your heels and a buzz warming your groin.

“Will you ever be able to just tell me when something’s wrong, bro?” he asks you, panting. His lips are a breath away from yours and it takes a bit of willpower not to jump on him. From this distance, he can see right into your eyes and there’s no getting away.

You sigh and rub a hand against his chest. “Maybe,” you begin, “maybe once I know you’re not going to just leave someday.”

Those captivating eyes of his regard you sadly. It breaks your heart. “I won’t leave you. Never. Never ever.” His lips brush yours in a chaste kiss, barely there, and you hold him still for more. You move your mouth lightly over his, making it a teasing gesture. Your tongue slips out to taste him, and he murmurs something to you but you miss it.

“I know you care for me,” you tell him in between caresses, “and I know that it’s not fleeting. But feelings can change, so easily. Your feelings changed for me once you realized how much you missed me. But they can... they can do the opposite, too. I just need to be cautious, for my own sake.”

Jake bumps foreheads with you and strokes the hair above your ear. “I know, mate. And I’m sorry I can’t be sure that I’ll never want to go, and you can’t be either. But... What I feel now, what we feel for each other, won’t just go away overnight. If it happens, if one of us decides to leave the other, then it won’t be me skittering off one day because I changed my mind. It’ll be an ordeal, heavy and messy and you’ll probably cry”—you laugh wetly when his smile turns wicked—“and we’ll hash it out and come out together or not. But I’ll never leave you on some whim. You’re worth more than a passing glance.” He kisses your nose. “You’re worth the whole world.”

You smother your face in his jacket, and try not to blubber while he chuckles at you and rubs your back. “Fuck you for making me cry in public, I hate you,” you snap at him. “How are you even this poetic? Life is unfair.”

Jake holds you close while you cry yourself out all over his new suit. He hands you a handkerchief—who carries these anymore, honestly—once you’ve calmed down and you wipe your face. You try to do some damage control on his jacket, but it’s a lost cause. He ends up shucking it off and tossing it over the railing of the valet booth. Now you get an eyeful of Jake in a barely-fitting dress shirt and dark slacks and dark skin and so many muscles—

He smiles at you and offers a hand up. You take it, and keep it there when you walk back inside.

Your table is ready, and you’re seated promptly. 

Jake orders a sirloin steak something dish and you mull it over before choosing a fettuccine shrimp thing. The service is slow since it’s a busy Friday night, but neither of you really mind.

While you wait for your food, Jake pulls out a deck of cards—from where you have absolutely no idea—and deals you both in to a game of slaps. Fifteen minutes into your supposedly romantic date, you’re slapping your boyfriend’s hands triumphantly when he fake-slapped a single three of spades. He takes it like a champ, of course, you’re sure no matter how hard you hit him he’d absorb it through his several layers of muscle. You end up winning the round, and he gets grumpy and suggests a different game. You shuffle since he’s a poor loser. Other couples in the joint are giving you some seriously strange looks, though you’re not sure if it’s because of your behavior or because you’re a gay couple.

For another game, you recommend poker. Jake practically barks, “No!” Your poker face is outstanding, and he knows this from when he tried to tickle you three nights ago and ended up getting so frustrated that he shoved you off the bed. Your bed.

He is such a sore loser.

You end up dealing out solitaire on the table while he mopes, figuring he’ll get over it on his own. His foot sneaking up your leg is what gets your attention, though, as you go to deal away two heart cards. Jake’s eyes are downcast on his phone, a portrait of still pouting like a loser, but the de-shoed foot caressing your knee is not. In fact, that is way too arousing and he should... he should keep doing it, maybe, and maybe you’ll have to pleasantly take him to the bathroom and show him ways to quiet his cries when you swallow around him—

Your food arrives with the shittiest timing you’ve ever imagined possible. Jake jerks back and his warm foot leaves you wanting more than a foot, way more than a foot. You need the whole damn guy, but there are two plates of food between you now, and Jake looks a little embarrassed and your face is probably red. Maybe it’s a good idea to just eat.

You clear the playing cards as best you can around the plate, and give them back to Jake. Conversation is idle at best as you two eat, and you only grimace a few times as Jake tears into his steak with less gentlemanly gusto and more ravenous intent than you’d like. You stay to slurping and munching your shrimp fettuccini alfredo and giving him disapproving looks over the candles in the center of the table.

Every time that Jake pauses in his attack on the helpless plate of beef before him, you open your mouth to bring up the topic of... you and him. On what happens when he leaves, if he leaves, how badly he needs you, how much you think you need him to stay with you. But his obliviousness to you is extremely worrying, and each time he fails to notice you trying to say something, you lose your courage and shut your mouth before he looks up.

Your anxiety builds as your plates empty, and it’s not long before you’re pushing around the remnants of your (admittedly delicious) meal. Jake’s barely looked up at you since he began inhaling his food, and although the way his chin is smeared with sauce is endearing, his ignorance of your discontent is... worrying. You’re aware that he’s not the most observant person, but you had hoped that maybe he would notice something.

Though if he asked you if something was wrong, what would you do? Immediately deny it. Which, depending on how upset you look, he’d either drop it or push it until you likely blew up on him. God, why is this so hard.

Once Jake’s finished, he leans back in his chair and stretches. Your eyes run along every sweet line of his torso all the way up to his fingernails. 

“Did you want anything for dessert?” Jake asks, rubbing his stomach with a pleased smile on his face.

“No,” you say. “I’m already looking at it.” The way his face reddens is very satisfying. Instead of teasing him more, you wave the waiter over for your bill. You provide him with one of many credit cards and gather your jacket off the back of your chair while he processes it.  
Jingling your keys, you lead the way outside the restaurant once you’ve paid. You don’t miss the looks that Jake is giving you, but you choose to ignore them. He brings it up about half-way home.

“Dirk,” he begins, and you look over at him when you stop for a red light. “About what I said earlier. Tonight is supposed to be special, isn’t it?”

You swallow, but hold his gaze. “Yeah, it is. Well, it was. I had hoped that dinner went... better.” You smile ruefully, and accelerate as the light changes. “But I was having wishful thinking. I know you well enough to know that food will hold your attention better than most anything, excluding movies.”

Jake’s hand runs over your thigh, making the car jerk slightly. You shift gears. “There were some things you wanted to discuss, weren’t there? Things about us.”

“Yes,” you tell him. You don’t elaborate.

Jake huffs out an irritated noise. “Mind enlightening me on what those might be?”

“Not while driving a vehicle, no,” you reply, and your voice is unsteady.

“Oh,” he says. He’s quiet for the rest of the drive.

The apartment’s dark when you get back, and flicking on the kitchen light provides you with an explanation why. On the table is a note.

 

_hey kid i took your friends and john over to my place to do some shit over there  
pretty much the exact same bull weve been doing here  
but this way you get free alone time with jake  
look at me being all considerate for your big date  
a million bucks says dad never did this for you  
actually dad was fuckin sweet he probably wouldve rented you a hotel room   
real nice and classy and the dude you boned would be so impressed  
just like oh dirk man you got all the hookups lets frick  
and youd be all suave but really your dad just basically got you a free pass for sex  
this is getting weird  
anyways have fun and wrap your toy gun lil bro  
-dave_

 

You tear up the note before Jake can see it. He looks at you, evidently puzzled, but chooses not to comment. He probably assumes Dave is just being a weird dickhead like always. He is correct.

You make some coffee while Jake lingers uncertainly behind you. He’s itching to bring it up again, easy enough to see, but you’re not sure you want to talk about it anymore. The answers could very well be something you don’t want to hear.

He surprises you by coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your chest. “I don’t feel like coffee,” he whispers in your ear.

“What do you feel like, then?” you reply, just as quiet.

“I feel like we should talk about what you think we need to talk about.”

You sigh, turning to face Jake. “You’re probably going to get really bummed out. I know I will.”

“Then we get bummed out,” Jake says. “I don’t want you to worry over this forever.”

You lead him to your bedroom, and you both sit on your bed. It feels really weird since you’re both in your fancy clothes still, so you remove your jacket and throw it somewhere. Your tie feels constricting on your neck. You wish you hadn’t worn it.

It’s hard to start when he looks at you like that. His hands tease at yours but don’t actually hold them, maybe because he thinks you’re just a little uncomfortable. He’s right.

“I’ve been thinking for the past few days,” you murmur, “since everything got better, about what happens... after. What happens to us, to this? I’m assuming you want to go home at some point. You guys have been here almost two weeks now. I know that you won’t stay forever.” Your glance at his face is as painful as you imagined it would be. “It’s just been bothering me, not knowing exactly when you’re going to leave.”

“Oh,” Jake says hollowly. His brow is low over his eyes, pensive and withdrawn. You’ve succeeded in bumming the both of you out.

“You don’t really have to give me any kind of straight answer,” you elaborate. “Maybe just a ball park.”

Jake sighs, and it’s long and low. “Mate, I...” He tries again. “I’m inclined to inform you that I don’t want to go home. But that’s not truthful, and not fair to either of us. I do wish for home. I miss my own things, and my island and all its wonderment. It’s an incredible place, and somewhere I can always be at peace." He hesitates before continuing, "Having said that, what I can tell you is... I’m less inclined to leave you, specifically.” He inches a little closer to you on the bed. “Maybe you’re becoming an extension of my sense of home.”

You smile stupidly at him. “And you make my home a lot warmer.” You sober slightly. “I’m not asking you to leave because I think you need to go home. I’m just making sure you’re not neglecting what you want for the sake of what I want.”

“Isn’t that the point of being with someone?” he asks, and he’s got you there. “And call me crazy, but what you want and what I want can be broadened to basically identical things.”

You smile when his fingers grip your chin. “I think time apart from each other wouldn’t be so bad,” he says, “but it would be bloody painful, and unnecessary, and hard. I can go home when we start to get sick of each other, when I know your bro won’t relapse, when I know that you know I’m not leaving you permanently for anything short of the end of the world. And even then, it would be a tough call, which I’d probably make to stay anyways.”

You shove him gently, but he’s barely fazed. “Stop being such a sap,” you mutter, stealing a kiss. “And stop taking words out of my mouth while you’re at it.”

He winks at you and mimes a brief double-pistols action. “Not that hard when it’s written in your eyes.”

You groan at the horrible line and he laughs at you. After a minute you laugh too. “Alright,” you say, “here’s my compromise. You stay here for however long you want to, and when you get so homesick you can’t stand it, I’ll come with you.”

Jake bumps his forehead into yours and kisses you. “Splendid idea.” 

When he doesn’t immediately pull away, you slide closer and loop your arms around his neck. He welcomes you into his lap, humming contentedly while you kiss.  
His big hands slide up your sides and caress you through your shirt, making you immediately wish you weren’t wearing it. You scratch his scalp like you’ve recently discovered drives him wild, and you’re not disappointed when he drops you down onto the bed and falls over you, pushing you into the mattress with hard kisses and nips. 

You welcome his weight over you, opening your legs so he can fit his body between them and thoroughly making you wish that you weren't wearing pants. That neither of you were, actually. His hands give yours something to do when he takes them and guides them to the buttons on his shirt. Sometimes it scares you how much he can read your mind.

Spreading the material of his shirt, you revel in the feel of his chest under your palms. Jake's contented moan is enough to spur you on, and you dip your head to lick at an exposed nipple. He hunches over you with a mild shiver--he's got nipples like a girl, honestly--when you tweak the other one in your left hand.

He jerks you back up after what you feel is a measly amount of nipple attention, but the foggy look in his eyes gives you an idea of how aroused that made him, which you anticipated. His hands pin you back into the bed, where he kisses you senseless and removes his shirt at the same time. Jake doesn't skip a beat in undoing your buttons, either, and finagles with your tie until the knot slips and he throws the entire ensemble behind him and out of your mind.

Jake's touch all over you drives you wild, which you let him know by vocalizing such things. His smug look only drives the sexual nail in further, and you claw at his shoulders when he sits you both up until you're gnawing on his neck, grinding your hips and bouncing in his lap.

"Jesus, Dirk," he stammers. His skin is hot underneath your lips, from arousal or embarrassment at your gusto, you're not sure. Probably both. You roll your hips slowly, forcefully over his, using your planted feet on the bed behind him as leverage. Jake's hands claw onto your thighs and his breathing gets significantly heavier. It flows over your bare shoulders and makes you shudder.

Jake moves to undo your pants, his hands fumbling with the catch while you try to minimize your gyrating enough for him to undress you. But he's shaking too hard, so you ease his hands away, sink down onto the bed and beckon him once you've undone and unzipped his and your pants. He more or less rips them off both of you.

Taking his previous position of weighing you into the mattress, Jake nuzzles and kisses your neck until you feel warm, tingly and shivery. Your hands travel over his back, mostly caressing the curve of his shoulder blades and spine, but also giving due attention to his supremely fine ass. When you give it a firm squeeze, Jake's next few kisses turn into bites. 

Arousal clots your memory somewhat, but as Jake's hands hurriedly relieve you of your boxer briefs, you're reminded of your earlier thought about delving into new sexual areas with Jake. His hand takes no pause in wrapping around you and pumping you slowly, nearly wiping your mind blank.

"Jake," you huff, "Jake, wait a second." You bat at his hand when he does nothing but squeeze. "C'mon, lay off... for a second."

Frowning but complying, Jake lets you go and sits back. "What is it?"

Well. How exactly do you go about asking your newly-acquired boyfriend, with whom you haven't even exchanged blowjobs, to fuck your brains out? You frown, idly rubbing your palms over your knees while you try to think of a non-embarrassing, non-boner-killing way to ask Jake to put his fingers in your ass.

Jake waits expectantly and impatiently, bouncing on your bed. Finally you say, "So, um... have you wanted to try anything... new? Like..." When words fail you, you gesture vaguely between the two of you with your hand. 

His eyes, previous fixed on your groin with intent, flick up to your face quickly. "You mean--" Jake's eyes glance away in embarrassment. He seems to get what you're aiming at. "I... I don't know. Have you?"

You make an impatient noise. "Duh, dude." You wave a hand at your junk. "Kind of been waiting for you to pillage this shit."

Jake grimaces at your word choice, but his shoulders lose some of the awkward hunch they acquired in the last ten seconds. "I don't know if I can..." His hands twitch uncomfortably.

"I can do the first part," you offer hopefully. 

Nervous eyes glance at you and away. "I suppose, yeah, that'd be alright."

Eagerly you roll to your bedside table and fish out a small bottle of lube. You lay back in front of Jake, shoving your pillows around so you can lounge comfortably. You're tentative to spread your legs, but Jake's eyes glaze over when you do, so your embarrassment is a lost cause. 

You smear some lube on your hand, set the bottle aside, and run your fingertips gently over your balls, creeping lower and lower. Jake's eyes never leave you, and the heat of his gaze is enough to make your ears flame. Which, of course, they do. You find what you're looking for, and a fingertip pushes in slowly to the first knuckle, then the second before withdrawing and repeating the motion.

The inside of you is soft, something you didn't expect when you first did some self-exploration. You feel the wet silkiness with mild acknowledgement, pushing in until you find resistance in the form of your third and final knuckle. You move in and out a few times until the slide is easy, and begin anew with two fingers. Your head drops onto the pillows when they both reach fully and brush your prostate, making you sigh unevenly. With each reinsertion, you press into the flesh there and feel heat slowly but surely seeping into your limbs. 

You open your eyes--when had you closed them?--when you feel the bed shift. Jake is watching you hungrily, leaning forward on his hands with his eyes hooded and his mouth agape as if he wants to lean down and gobble you up whole. 

You don't stop moving your hand while you ask him quietly, "D'you want to try?"

Jake starts, looking up at you like you caught him peeping. "I... Y-yes," he murmurs. 

Beckoning him with a jerk of your chin, you pull out your fingers. He moves up closer to you, slowly. You sit up enough to hand him the bottle of lube. 

"Coat your first three fingers with it," you advise him, and he does so with shaking hands. Instead of giving him orders through it, you take his hand, and lead him to your ass. You find his first finger and place it, then nod at him to go.

Having someone's fingers besides yours touching you there is a novel experience, to be sure. Just the alien feeling of it is enough to draw a small sound out of you. Though, you're pretty wound up already. Jake pushes all the way in, and you murmur, "Curl your finger, drag it back some," and he does and he hits you right on the money. You shiver and shift on the bed, humming as he does it again and again.

"Another finger," you groan at him, and he complies without a word, clamping his free hand on the inside of your thigh, shoving your legs farther apart. Your breathing becomes erratic as he picks up the pace, slipping in and out of you with precision and increasing speed. More times than not, he presses or drags against your prostate. As a result of that, you're almost permanently arched off the bed, your muscles tensed and quivering. When he adds a third finger without your prompt, you moan out loud.

"Christ, Dirk," Jake says, breathless and awed. His hand not occupied with finger-fucking you slides up your thigh to your stomach, petting you even as you shake underneath his hand. 

"That's enough," you pant, "fuck, Jesus, just get in me--"

Jake slips his fingers out obediently, but waivers long enough for you to snap, "What?"

"What about a condom?" he asks. You sigh, hard, and direct him to your bedside table where he fishes out a condom wrapper and proceeds to take for-fucking-ever tearing it open, kicking off his boxers and putting it on. He even has the forethought to slicking himself up with additional lube without you asking. 

"C'mon," you beckon, moving restlessly. Jake shimmies up to your hips and lines up. You feel the first bit of stretch as he tests with a tiny push, and then the show starts when he thrusts in earnest.

Your head slams back into the pillows, and your throat rumbles with a low moan that doesn't stop until Jake is all the way in. 

"Dirk," Jake murmurs, gravelly and deep. You try to even your breathing enough to talk, but you just end up opening your eyes and looking at him questioningly. Jake smile, big and stupid and endearing. "You're beautiful, mate."

You smile stupidly back at him. You lift your hands to thread your fingers through his hair, damp with sweat already, and tug him to you. You lay like that, kissing languidly for a moment until you shift on his lap and both of you jolt with surprise. Both of you pause, and hesitantly Jake gives a small thrust that sends a pleasant shimmer right up your spine and all the way to your eyebrows. 

You link your arms around his neck and whisper in his ear, "Come on, Jake. Fuck me."

With satisfaction, you feel him shiver. His hand clamp on your hips and he begins moving, slowly but fully. Your body ripples with the movement of his hips, slowly undulating as he retreats, and jerking when he snaps forward again to sheath inside you.

His breath expels quickly on a surprised gasp once he's developed a smooth but speedy rhythm. "Golly," he nearly wheezes, and his hands tighten to the point of pain on your thighs. "Mate, Jesus, you're tight as fucking hell, I can't--"

"It doesn't hurt," you mumble, spearing your hands through his hair and pulling. "Don't you dare fucking stop, I'll piss on everything you love, I swear to God--" His next thrust brushes right into your prostate and makes your abdomen jerk hard enough to shock you. "Right fucking there, wherever that was. Again."

The worried curve of Jake's eyebrows doesn't disappear, but the sexual heat in his eyes doubles. His hips angle enough to try and strike you there each time, and his success rate isn't bad. You're certainly not about to complain. Though, that's probably because it just gets hard to talk in general.

Sweat rolls off the both of you, enough to permeate your senses completely. If you're not smelling it in Jake's shoulder or off your own chest, you're tasting it when you lick your lips. You hear a litany of things pouring out of Jake's mouth, ranging from complete filth to horrible sap, with variants of how incredible you feel around him intermittently thrown in. 

Jake's arms trembling on either side of your head clue you in to how far gone he is, so you cling to his shoulders and yank him down to lick a stripe behind his ear like you know he likes and whisper only his name. He tumbles off the edge almost instantly, clutching you close to him while he ruts into you through his orgasm and steadily climbs you higher in the process. 

Unfortunately, not high enough. He pulls off and out of you with a blissed-out, lopsided grin and enjoys his moment for all of five seconds before noticing that you are still unbelievably hard. You don't know how he manages to give you the sloppiest--read: best--first blowjob ever and apologize at the same time, but he does. You warn him in time to pull away, and he rubs you until you've spent all over your stomach and you're twitching under his hand. You have to remind him to tie and throw out his condom though.

The brute thinks it's funny to collapse on you after you regain your breath, and pulls you close enough to make you think symbiosis is on his mind. Fuck you for everything, but you'd never pegged Jake English as a cuddler.

You nose into his hair and swallow the objection on your tongue about cum and stickiness and you'll both feel disgusting in the morning. By the look that passes over his face as his elbow slides through the disaster zone, it's occurred to him too. Instead of letting him bring it up, you slide to face him, slotting your bodies together quite nicely, and tug the blanket back up with your leg.

Jake hums with appreciation, murmurs something about remarkable dexterity, ol' boy, and conks right out. 

You're sleepy, dozing even, when you reach over Jake to grab your phone out of you pants pocket and text Roxy.

 

DIRK: Remember when you asked me once if I thought Jake would be a total buffoon in bed?  
ROXY: the relevance of this quesion makes me wonder wtf u just finsihed doin  
DIRK: The answer appears to be, hell fucking no.  
ROXY: wow gross but gr8 spare me some deets over hur  
DIRK: No can do, I'm late for the latter of a shag and snuggle.  
ROXY: leaves a girl hangin after juixy info lyk that  
ROXY: rude as fukc  
DIRK: Raincheck?  
ROXY: word

 

Disgusting is a mild way to put how you feel in the morning. You attempt to climb silently out of bed to snag the first shower, but a warm hand shackles your ankle and drags you back with a grumble. Groggy green eyes stare at you over the blanket, and you narrow your own.

It's a close race to the bathroom. Jake slams his head into the door frame after sleepily tripping on the rug in the hall, and you slip in the bathtub--which you totally beat him to--and fall hard enough on your well-used ass to actually scream. 

You both concede and shower together, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! HA this only took forever to finally happen. I am /SO/ SORRY for making you guys wait this long. Seriously. Love anyone who reads this and doesn't hate it. Love all of you. Love. 
> 
> (Slightly unrelated note, I've never had such a challenging time naming a chapter. I'm usually so witty. But I finally went for simplicity. I feel like it works nicely.)


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